The Camera Girl (Patreon)

(Photo:  Lady Cheyenne de Muriel)

I had been approached on deviantArt to write a followup piece to Izanami: Portrait of a Villainess  and I originally wasn't sure about it, but I opted to give it a try. It turned out to be a more engrossing project than I expected, leaving my writing a bit backlogged, but hopefully  the wait for the ruthlessly brutal Miss Izanami was worthwhile.

Enjoy!

**********

It had only been a couple of days since Miss Izanami had summoned me last. I couldn’t believe my luck to be called back again to her chambers so soon. I hadn’t been allowed to keep her camera for even a moment, but I almost didn’t need it. I relived every moment of her torturing that helpless woman under her majestic heels a hundred times, shivering with every detail burned into my brain. Her merciless feet, unmatched cruelty, her incredible power filled my every waking thought. To be in her presence twice in the same week was a spectacular honor.

Maybe I’d done such a good job filming for her that she’d grown to appreciate me. Maybe I’d shown her that I was better than the average girl she kept in her cells and she was going to let me serve her more regularly.

I dropped to my hands and knees as I approached her doorway. There was no door to open, just a dark curtain that mostly obscured the room. Mistress didn’t need a door. Nobody would dare enter without permission. I touched the chimes to let her know I’d arrived, and after a distant “Come,” I bowed my head and crawled through the curtain.

I wasn’t the only girl she’d called. Jealousy surged through me as I glanced up and caught two small, pretty women in the same lacy, ludicrously skimpy gowns that almost seemed to leave less to the imagination than nothing at all. I wasn’t jealous for their presence alone, though.

Miss Izanami herself regally reclined in a tall, throne-like chair, ignoring everything around her as she read through something on her phone. Her servant girls knelt at her feet, carefully guiding a pair of long, black boots onto our mistress’s perfectly shaped, powerful legs.

She preferred thick, heavy platform soles and dangerously sharp, tall heels. Her footwear was always elegant and imposing, even without knowing the brutal violence she was capable of and enjoyed. I knew her heels intimately--I’d cleaned the blood from their soles, felt the exquisite curves of her foot against my lips, whimpered as her stilettos bruised and tore my flesh.

The last time I’d seen her I’d been the one guiding her feet into her precious shoes. Being summoned to her presence and watching these two crawling all over her boots soured my stomach. Were they as dedicated, as passionate? My nose and my jaw still ached from my last encounter with her shoes, and I savored every trace of the memory.

“You’re here.” Her voice struck me like a lightning bolt. I tried to shake off the distracting thoughts and bowed my head towards the floor.

I quivered to hear her steps, the sharp crack of her heels on the hard floor and the heavy thuds of her heels. I didn’t dare look up, my heart pounding as each step brought her closer, my lips parting with an anxious, fearful desire when her boots came into view.

“We’re filming again. You know what I expect--perfection on the first and only attempt.”

There was something exotic and thrilling about watching Miss Izanami through the camera lens. I would never have dared get to watch so boldly while she tortured and humiliated that woman under her shoes, but I drank in every second when I last recorded her. I looked up and gave a timid nod.

I’d been so focused on my mistress and her two pets that I hadn’t even noticed the camera set up on a tripod. “Get up, little girl.” I couldn’t tell if she was impatient, but I’d jump at her every command no matter her tone.

“The camera will be stationary and unmanned.” I hurried after her, keeping up with her long stride. This wasn’t like before. Wasn’t I her camera girl?

“I’ll be seen full body, with some room to move forward and back.” She snatched up a length of cord from the table by the camera as we walked by and shoved it into my hands. “Put this on the floor at the spot and make it perfect. We start in five minutes.”

With that she left me alone with the camera to start the setup. I glanced at the other two girls as Miss Izanami moved towards them. They’d curled up together seated on the floor, one stroking the other’s hair while they smiles and stared at our mistress. Sisters? Lovers? I hated them for their confident warmth and affection. I hated that my mistress was speaking to them and not me.

“Fetch,” I overheard her command while I adjusted the ISO for the indoor lighting I had to work with. The girls hopped up and giggled as they scampered off down the stairs, and I shook my head. I didn’t have nearly enough time, so I scurried back and forth, running a few test shots of myself, standing on my toes to try and simulate my mistress’s height.

They quickly returned, dragging the same poor woman I’d filmed squirming under Miss Izanami’s shoes a couple of days ago. She was worn and ragged, barely aware of her surroundings. They dumped her unceremoniously on the ground at our mistress’s feet, eliciting a disgusted sneer and a click of the tongue from her as she looked her filthy, beaten body over.

I shivered a little, thinking of my mistress torturing her again. She’d promised to release the woman if her demands were met, and promised dark things if they were not. That she was still here must mean--

The woman must have said something. She lifted her hand from the ground, pleading, reaching out. “Don’t let it touch me,” Mistress spat, and one of the girls stomped down on the older woman’s wrist, pinning it under her bare sole.

They both laughed again as she whimpered in pain. That hideous giggling--what gave them the right to enjoy Miss Izanami’s toy? They should be on their knees, quaking before her boots.

“Strip her.” The other girl dropped down and got to work tugging and tearing off the woman’s dress while the first started grinding the back of her hand under her heel, enjoying her suffering with the glee of a child.

She stayed down after she’d finished removing her clothes, handing the dirty rag to her friend or whatever she was while she sat on the woman’s bare back.

Then all three of them turned to look at me. I froze in their sight until Miss Izanami spoke. “We’re starting. Is that the spot?”

I still held the cord she wanted me to place on the ground. I hastily glanced at the camera and the wall behind and judged the distance, then gave a timid nod. I started to crouch to lay the cord down, but she stopped me. “No need. You can stay there.”

My eyes shifted back and forth as panic started to creep in. She wanted me in front of the camera?

The girl took a break from nudging the older woman’s face with her toes and bounded over towards me, still clutching her torn and dirty dress. She held it out towards me, seeming bored by everything about me. “Put it on.”

She was tall and gorgeous, which only deepened my distaste for her. Who was she to be giving me orders? Weren’t we both slaves? Miss Izanami was watching, though, and she didn’t contradict the girl’s command.

I took the filthy garment and grimaced while pulling it on over my head. She’d taken the cord from me so I could get my arms through the dress, and as soon as it was on she’d grabbed my wrists and started binding my wrists, pulling the cord tight against my skin while she watched me with a wicked grin.

I couldn’t help but lower my head and blush. Even this stupid girl overwhelmed me. But what was going on? Why was this happening?

She dropped down and guided my ankles together. I didn’t resist. It didn’t even cross my mind. She was sharp and efficient with her work, clearly practiced with knots, and when she was done she gave me a little smirk over her shoulder as she pranced over to the camera.

“Minako-chan.” Miss Izanami stood behind me, speaking to the camera. They were filming already? Filming me?

“I’m sure Saeko has told you about your mother. Has she told you about your mother?”

They were talking about the ragged, beaten woman on the floor. The woman whose dress I wore.

“This isn’t her, but they have so much in common you wouldn’t even know the difference.” Her fingers slid through the back of my long, tangled hair and seized a firm hold. I gasped as she wrenched my head back, panting in shock and fear.

“She’s so happy to be here with me.” Miss Izanami’s voice dropped to a low purr while she displayed me for the camera. “It’s taking Mother some time to learn, but I think she’s starting to love being at my feet.”

She gave me the faintest shove, but with my ankles and wrists bound together I couldn’t keep myself upright, and I couldn’t really break my fall. I landed on my side, stretched out before her, and before I’d even caught my breath one of her towering boots was moving towards my face.

“She loves the taste of my boots, that much I know.” I didn’t need prompting. I squirmed forward as best I could and slid my tongue along the side of her foot, eager to show my devotion and worship for my mistress and her all-powerful boot. “You understand that, though, don’t you? You’re Saeko’s little bootlicking toy. Are you surprised it runs in the family?”

I’d seen the woman tortured. She didn’t love Mistress. She only licked her wet soles because she was desperate for water. I was the one who loved her. I’d suffer for her pleasure. I’d lick every inch of her boots to show my devotion. I kissed her stiletto heel and sighed softly, wondering again if I’d get to watch this video when it was done.

“I know you miss your mother, Minako-chan. I told Saeko what she needed to do to bring her home, but she didn’t listen.” She slid her boot closer, letting the leather tease along the curves of my face. I strained my neck to continue kissing, finding some part of her foot to continue my eager worship. Her pointed toe slipped under my shoulder and lifted, coaxing me to roll over on my back.

Staring up at her from the floor was more perfect than I could have imagined. I was so small before her, a tiny helpless thing, and she was the beautiful goddess towering over me, ruling my existence with absolute power. 

“I also told Saeko what would happen if she ignored me.” Her boot lifted away from my face and I shuddered to watch it moving over me. Her smooth sole gently settled on my collarbone and slid across my chest, the tip of her heel catching in the already ruined dress, ripping it further though I seemed like the only one who saw and heard the tear.

My head was buzzing, my hips shifting as I squirmed with desire under her heel. I dreamed of being teased and toyed with like this, but Miss Izanami barely interacted with me. I existed to serve her however she desired, but this was a moment from my own fantasies. I wanted to thank her, but I wouldn’t dare let my voice be heard on camera. One take, no mistakes.

She lifted her boot from me and I gasped to watch how far it rose. Miss Izanami’s voice rose along with it, sharp and intense. I couldn’t let myself imagine what was going to happen next, but the words left her mouth at the same moment her boot smashed down, and I realized I couldn’t imagine anything else.

“I said she’d die--”

My ribs cracked under my mistress’s brutal stomp. I felt them pop, felt my chest crumple under her unimaginable power. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t catch my breath, but her boot was already back in the air again.

“At my feet--”

I whimpered and tried to lift my hands in some pathetic reflex to save myself, but I’d barely moved before her heavy platform sole and sharp heel crashed down on my chest again. I thought it would collapse, that she’d literally stomp a hole in me. My ribs crunched and strained under her foot, and her knee rose back towards her chest as she prepared to stomp down on me again.

“Like a fucking worm!”

I jerked my head to the side a split second before her vicious boot could destroy my face. Something cracked and a white-hot flash blasted through my brain. Her thick platform sole continued to smash down on my jaw and her heel dug into my neck while I twitched and coughed, gasping for breath I couldn't get.

“Still, there’s so much more that I can do beyond just crushing Mommy like a bug.”

Her words were distant, and everything felt fuzzy. I couldn’t get anything in focus--her brutal stomp to my skull and the oxygen deprivation taking their toll. Her boot almost completely covered my face, and in spite of everything I strained to kiss her sole. It was natural, instinctive. Worship Mistress. Serve her feet. Her boot slowly twisted down on me, grinding me into the ground. It was subtle, probably something the camera would barely notice, but it was just as natural for Miss Izanami.

Trample the frail. Crush the weak. She savored every bit of her superiority and relished destruction beneath her feet, and I loved her for it.

I let out a low moan when she lifted her boot from my face. I don’t know if it was just the agony of my cracked ribs and aching skull or the unstoppable desire racing through me as I stared up at her from beneath her foot.

Her stiletto hooked the cords binding my wrists and pulled them along as she stepped down above my head, leaving them stretched out above me while I laid flat on my back. I couldn’t see what she was doing, only her lowered gaze and mile-long leg filling my vision.

I barely had time to register the sharp tip of her heel settling into the middle of my smallest finger and pinning it to the floor before I felt the bone crunch. I bit down hard on my lip, keeping myself to just a muffled whimper and a twitch.

I couldn’t see much of her boot, just the top of the shaft and the perfect, pale flesh of her thigh along with her utterly serene expression. She was pleased, satisfied by the feel of my next finger pinned beneath her stiletto and the low crunch of my bones crumbling beneath her weight.

She smiled and tears flowed freely down my cheeks while her heel easily destroyed my third and fourth fingers. The middle knuckle of my thumb resisted her weight for a brief moment, trapped sideways under the heel of her deadly boot. She shifted her weight and that minor effort was all it took--she let out a happy sigh along with the crunching bones.

“So many things I can do, Mina-chan, but I don’t have to show you everything.” Suddenly the full weight of her heavy boot sole pressed down on my ruined fingers. I couldn’t stop myself from crying out, and I whimpered loudly as her boot started to twist, viciously grinding my splintered finger bones under her foot.

“I’ll take good care of her until you get here, though. Don’t you worry. You just--may want to get here sooner rather than later. She’ll probably appreciate it.” I’d curled halfway on my side, tucking my knees up towards aching chest as my body tried to cope with the pulsing, radiating pain from my hand.

“You belong under my feet, don’t you, little worm?” Her voice was strangely melodic as she teased me. “Just like Saeko and Mina, isn’t that right?”

I wasn’t sure if I should answer. She’d told me to be quiet. Her boot lifted from my hand and as her sole started to slowly come back into view, I knew what I was supposed to do. I saw traces of blood on the bottom of her boot as it lowered towards my face, and without prompting my tongue quickly tasted the metallic grime from her sole.

I was desperate for her boot. I licked with a frenzied passion, trying to push out the throbbing agony and focus on Mistress, on pleasing her with my worship, on cleaning my blood from her sole. My existence was for her. I belonged to her, I belonged underfoot, just like she said.

She stepped down harder and I winced in pain, but that wouldn’t stop my tongue. Even with my lips mashed against my teeth, I still strained to lick, struggled to leave Mistress’s sole shiny and clean. It started to drag downward, grinding across my chin, and I followed licking and kissing for as long as I could.

Her heavy platform pushed down on my neck, and at first I just stared upwards, watching her gleaming eyes, too spellbound to react.

She kept stepping down. Her boot sank into my throat while her lips curled to a devilish smile. I gasped for breath, already struggling from the destruction her boots had caused, but nothing worked. My subconscious realized what was happening before I even processed it--I clutched at her ankle and my legs kicked and thrashed.

Nothing could move her merciless boot. All my frantic strength couldn’t push her an inch. My eyes bulged while hers narrowed and her lips parted, drawing a sharp, excited breath while she watched me struggle and flail under her foot.

My head was on fire, like it was ready to pop, just explode like a fleshy melon. I couldn’t scream but I tried. I couldn’t speak, but I begged all the same. If she could read lips, maybe Miss Izanami understood. Please! Please, Miss, please don’t, please, please--

Whether she understood or not, her face never changed. I heard her soft, happy sigh as my eyes fluttered and darkness crept at the edges of my vision. I watched her cold, cruel eyes and for some reason I thought of my mom, that she’d never know where I went or why I never came home.

*****

The little bitch blacked out pretty quickly, but Miss Izanami kept her boot smashing down, crushing her throat for several minutes more. She twisted her foot back and forth just a bit and for some reason that little twist always got me off. I’d been grinding against the old hag’s back and I grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back and making sure she watched while the stupid girl died.

Worms. They were all stupid worms at her feet, and it was the hottest thing in the world watching her treat them like that.

“Get this filth out of here.” She stepped off of the lifeless girl and kicked her across the face, sending another spray of blood across the floor. My sister stopped the camera and gave a quick “Yes, Miss,” before hurrying to obey her command.

Miss Izanami sauntered back to her seat and sank back into it, then her eyes turned to me.

“One way or another I’ll be using these boots again tonight. I expect them spotless.”

I moaned at the thought of licking the blood from her soles. I crawled to her, hips in the air, swaying back and forth, eager to remind Mistress why I’m her favorite.