Do It (Patreon)

(Collage by Gorilla09)

Sometimes a piece of art grabs me and there's a story that has to be told. This isn't the first time Gorilla09's work has done that for me, and she's definitely one of my favorite shrinking collage artists. Simple, lovely and effective. 

*****

I checked the stream and I had almost a hundred viewers even before I’d gotten out of class. There wasn’t anything special going on right now, just the steady stream of my Tiny Tank (named by a community poll, don’t blame me for that one) and the one male Little right now, and he wasn’t doing anything remarkable.

Most days there were usually three or four people watching him lay around. A couple Little Lovers, I guess, and a couple of my superfans that didn’t want to miss a minute of me. One of them made a whole Twitter account just for pictures of my feet, and they about melted when I followed them back.

What can I say? My feet are sexy, and they definitely turn me on. I think that’s part of how I got so popular. I’ve got a lot of the same kinks as my fans, so I know what’s hot. They called me “Miss Lauren” in the chat and a lot of them dreamed of being my tiny pets or serving me as slaves, whatever that meant to them.

Activity always picked up on the stream Friday nights. I always set aside a little time after my last class during the week to play with my Little and give the viewers some content. They liked schedules and I enjoyed ritual, so I’d trained him on how to greet me every night, how to show his love and respect, and how important it was to obey.

Doing things I wanted him to do was how he got things. He could understand my words, but he couldn’t really talk back, so it was basically like training a relatively smart animal. Kissing my feet got him his first bottle cap full of water. Getting on his knees to greet me got him cracker crumbs or a chicken nugget or whatever food happened to be nearby for the week. Learning to lace and tie my sneakers in the morning got him his cotton ball pillow. He earned an old microfiber glasses cleaning cloth for a blanket once he started doing a good job painting my nails.

The stream was enthusiastic when I walked through the door and kicked my heels up on my desk. Custom “sneaker” emojis started popping up left and right as they all got the chance to stare at my legs and my checkerboard Vans.

“Hey there, everybody! That includes you too, mister tiny. It looks like you’ve all been waiting for me. So we’ve got a lot of viewers tonight, I guess because this is going to be my last stream until January.”

I paused for a little while to look over my little man. He was on his knees like I’d trained him, just waiting for what I wanted him to do next. I wish everyone could be four inches tall. “Yeah, that’s right, tiny. I’m going to Europe, but you don’t know what that is because I don’t think you’ve ever been outside the dorm, have you?”

I tapped my nail on his plastic wall a few times, smirking while he flinched and took a step back. “That’s okay. You don’t need to go anywhere except for down, right? Ready to say hello?”

I picked up my webcam and the Tiny Tank, gently setting them on the floor and flicking open his door.

He rushed out to greet me, wrapping his arms around the toe of my shoe. “Kiss.” A simple, single word command, but one he was used to. He bent over the thick white rubber and pushed his face into the canvas above my toes, giving a long and firm kiss that I could just barely feel through my shoe.

He also knew his job. We had a routine, after all. He started tugging at my laces, using all his strength to get them untied, and while he worked I’d order him again at random intervals, “Kiss,” and he’d press his lips to my shoe and show his devotion with kisses just as emphatic as the first.

It took so much work for him to get my sneakers untied, and an incredible effort to brace against the back of my heel and yank them off. I could have pushed them off with my toes in ten seconds without even untying them, but part of the fun was watching him struggle. These little rituals of service were what my audience and I liked, and he was trained well.

I wore thick white socks over my black tights, and the moment he finished pulling the second shoe off, I shoved him onto his back with that same foot.

This was part of our ritual, too. I covered his entire little body, pinning his chest under the ball of my foot and pushing my toes into his face. I liked how my feet smelled, and I could get a good bit of the fragrance already from where I sat, so I could only imagine what it was like for him as I smothered him completely under my damp, sweaty sock.

It didn’t even scare him anymore, In fact, I could feel his tiny dick stiffening under my sole while I kept rubbing my foot in his face. I’d trained him to cum for my socks by playing with his dick while I smothered him, and if he touched himself any other time, he got snapped with rubber bands. My viewers were really good about telling on him, and I’d only had to punish him twice. Well, three times officially, but I found out that the last time was just an eager sadist false reporting, so since then I’d required timestamps.

Anyhow, little dude got the privilege of basically fucking my dirty sock while I stepped on him, and the viewers got to watch him live their dream. I don’t know if it was just that guys of all sizes are naturally horny and he knew it was the only time he was allowed to get off, but I liked to think it was some real Pavlov shit. Maybe I could get away with writing a paper on him for Psych 102.

“Kiss it, pipsqueak.” There was a good chance he already might have been, but I lifted my foot just enough that I could see him straining his neck to keep his face buried in my toes, frantically kissing my sock again and again and again.

Such a good boy. I wrote the words in sharpie and held it up in front of the camera so my audience could read while they watched the Little man worship me. I smirked a little as dog emojis popped up in the chat, along with others saying it back, “Good Boy,” and a few promising that they were very good boys, too.

Take my sock off? I held the next slip of paper in frame and sighed happily at the instant, eager reaction. Dozens of people literally pleading, and then the ping of a few new subscriptions all while I gently wriggled my toes, rubbing them in my tiny toy’s face.

His hands reached upwards for me when the bottom of my foot lifted away. I could see his shifting, eager hips and almost hear his little whimper before I hooked the back of my sock with my thumb and started to seductively peel it off for the camera, showing inch after inch of my ankle, heel, arch and toes for my thirsty fans before unceremoniously letting the thick white sock drop to the ground and completely cover my moaning toy.

It didn’t take long for him to crawl out from underneath while I wrote out my next little message, adding some hearts at the edges of the paper: Loves my feet so much! I showed it for the camera while he approached on his hands and knees, bowing down to kiss the tips of my toes while huffing the scent of my damp tights.

The chat scrolled by so quickly I couldn’t keep up. Suffice to say my viewers loved my feet, too, and seeing their enthusiasm was absolutely delicious. I imagined them as hundreds of other captive Littles, trapped in my room, staring in worshipful awe at their powerful, beautiful goddess. “Lick,” I casually demanded while writing out my next message, showing it off while he laid across my toes, pushing his face deep into the sweaty black nylon to try and lick between them. My perfect tiny toy.

I waited a bit before I picked up the pen again. As small as he was, he was still big enough that his tongue felt really nice. It might be a while before I had someone to worship my feet again, so I let him do as he was trained for a couple minutes. I was careful to slowly lower the next written message into the frame, keeping still enough that I didn’t interrupt his eager work.

Let’s kill him.

The chat collectively lost their minds. Skulls and footprints littered the screen while they howled with textual enthusiasm, but I just watched him for a moment longer, so lost in my toes, breathing deeply and lapping with a calm, practiced rhythm. He really was a pretty good boy.

His body was almost limp, just accepting my toes lifting and nudging him over onto his back. I felt the breath from his soft grunt when the ball of my foot landed on his chest and the passionate strokes of his tongue returning to my sole. My sweat and his saliva made it that much easier to slide my foot back and forth across his squirming body, covering him completely and pressing down just enough that he pushed back, moaning as loud as his little lungs could manage under the pressure. We’d been here many times, and we both liked how this felt.

That changed when I pulled my foot just a little further back, enough that I could look him in his glassy eyes for a moment. His little warm, contented smile pulled a smile pulled a smile out of me, too, just before I pushed down and felt his shins splinter and crunch under the ball of my foot.

I barely remembered his little screams until later when I watched the playback. I guess the microphone picked him up better than my own ears, although my head was definitely buzzing a bit when I started to feel a little bit of his warm blood seeping through my tights. 

“Shut up and keep licking.” I growled a little while I shoved my toes back down over his face, roughly slamming the back of his head back to the floor. His screams tickled my sensitive sole just a bit and I just kept pushing my foot forward, dragging my sole across his face until I could feel his thrashing, broken legs under my heel.

There was almost something cute about the way he shrieked when I pulped the rest of his lower half. My heel slipped and skidded just a bit in the spreading wet mess he was becoming, and I let out a long, soft sigh as the tingling in me stretched out to the backs of my hands and down to my calves, pulsing through me as I felt him start to fade.

“I said, lick my foot, dummy.” I didn’t even really care anymore. It was a breathy, vacant demand, when all I really wanted was to end him, to snuff out this little life and erase it completely with nothing but the lazy pressure of my sole. The ball of my foot pushed down over his face, muffling him and pinning his flopping torso flat, and every crunch and squelch was purely electric.

Gone.

Crushed.

I groaned a little while I twisted the ruined bits of him, smearing the mess around and grinding the lumps under my toes. Squishing Littles left me in a bit of a trance, I guess, but eventually I remembered the audience.

“Mm, that was nice, huh?” I didn’t pick the camera back up yet, letting them all stare at the ugly splatter while I pulled off my other sock and started slipping out of my tights.

“Now, make sure not to forget me while I’m gone.” I cupped the camera while I lifted it, like I was holding one of my tiny pets in the palm of my hand. “Follow on Twitter and Patreon for pictures of my trip, and bidding starts now for these.”

I held my dirty tights up close, showing off the broad, wet stain on the foot, then leaning back to show off balling them up a little and taking a long, deep sniff of my own lovely scent. “I’ll mail them in the morning, so hop to it, my little loves. Bye now!”

And with that I killed the stream and left the screen rotating through the collection of fan art that filled my channel when I wasn’t there. It was almost too bad, he was definitely one of the better ones, but I’d find a few more for spring semester. Training them was half the fun.