donna's riding boots Goddess Donna came home pissed off, and stomped into the living room. Her riding boot-heels clunked loudly on the hardwood floor as she fumed about Goddess Renee standing her up that afternoon. The nerve of that bitch! Under the couch, a tiny slave was peeking nervously at the gigantic gleaming shafts and the low heavy heels of the black boots as they strode back and forth. He had been hiding under the couch for hours, having escaped from the bedroom closet where the rest of the slaves were kept. It had been a long trek from the bedroom to the living room, and he had no idea what he was going to do from here anyway. His entire life had been spent inside shoeboxes in that closet, first worshipping an old chunky-heeled pair of brown leather fashion boots (very worn), then transferred to an shoebox full of other slaves and a pair of brand new black leather riding boots. Now those boots were striding across the great wooden floor, the black leather gleaming. The slave loved watching the way the light gathered around the ankles. He loved the straps and the metal spurs around the ankles. He loved the way the floor shook from each of Goddess Donna’s massive footsteps. He suddenly realized that there was no escape from this house, and that his life was created for the sole purpose of worshipping those riding boots. Quickly, he ran from under the couch as fast as he could, towards his gigantic Goddess! Donna noticed the speck scurrying out from under the couch and took a step towards it, slamming the sole of her riding boot three inches in front of the little pink thing. It stopped moving and seemed to be wriggling like a worm. The Goddess got down on one knee to look closely at the miniature slave. “Where did you come from? Are you from the closet?” The tiny slave kept wriggling. Donna poked it with her finger and realized it was probably jerking off. “Does it turn you on to see this?...”, and with that Donna raised her slightly worn bootsole by balancing the boot on its heel. The tiny man stared up at the tan leather sole. He could see the stitching that ran around the perimeter, and all the worn spots across the smooth leather. He was so happy to finally be joining his great Goddess’ bootsole, he came in wild spurts. Donna pressed the sole flatly down, crushing the masterbating slave into soft pink paste. It felt good to press a man flat at the end of the day. She smushed the spot of wetness around under her sole, thinking about how Renee had stood her up. She called out loud so the slaves in her bedroom closet could hear...”I’m coming in there to kill all of you...get ready!” In each of the boxes, the men went crazy. Hundreds of them, stored in different places. they knew they were going to die. Donna’s black leather trenchcoat hung on the doorknob of the bedroom door. The slaves inside the deep pockets of the coat panicked also. If Goddess Donna remembered them, they would be crushed also. Donna stomped into the bedroom and swung open the closet door. She slid the first box out quickly and flipped the lid off. Inside was the old pair of brown leather fashion boots. She had them since she was twenty-two, and the soles and heels were well worn. She kind of liked the chunky heels. As Donna ran her fingers along one of the heels, she felt a soft thing clinging to the bottom. She tilted the heel of the boot and saw a few slaves clinging to the tread pattern on the heel. She snickered as she pressed each of the soft lumps with her fingertip, squishing the helpless men’s bodies one by one, into the heel bottom. She liked the small pink splotches that now stuck to the tread. Donna lifted the brown boots up, out of the box and saw about two dozen slaves crawling around on the cardboard box bottom. “I guess I should really kill you with these, since you’ve been worshipping them”. The little men scurried into one another, afraid of what the gigantic Donna might do next. They looked up and saw her scornful face, and her hand holding the brown boots. They could see above the top of the box wall, Goddess Donna’s knee in the tight white jeans, tucked into her black leather riding boots. “But I really feel like use my new riding boots..” Donna stepped one boot slowly into the box, giving the tiny men plenty of time to get out of the way. Amazingly, however, many of the slaves didn’t run. They simply stared transfixed up at the descending leather sole. The riding boot-sole was already dirty from walking outside, with plenty of brown marks and a nice pink splotch near the front beneath the toe. “Aren’t you going to try and run? I guess you guys want to be paste”. The slaves simply prayed and called out the name of Goddess Donna. Their prayers were muffled and their bodies flattened as the sole pressed down, mushing their soft guts into oozing liquid. Donna figured about ten of them were caught under her sole. Ten willing little squishes. The rest of the men in the box stopped running and stared at the gigantic riding boot now towering in their midst. It’s high, black shaft was hundreds of feet tall, gleaming shiny leather. The strap that went underneath the arch and joined the spur was gorgeous. They could see every detail: the buckle that attached to the strap, the creases and folds that crinkled above the ankle..They cowered as the boot lifted up a few inches, revealing the mess of splattered goo sticking to the cardboard from the dead slaves. “The rest of you crawl under there. I want you to play in that goo so I can smush you in with it”. The slaves hesitated, mesmerized by the vision of the giant black leather shaft, and the way the leg of Donna’s white jeans rose up to the sky. Donna was impatient and reached down into the box with her hand, cupping her palm and sliding all of the slaves on the right side of her boot underneath the sole. Any ones that wriggled and tried to get out from under the sole’s shadow were poked back by Donna’s fingers. “Stay under there with your squished friends”. After a minute, the slaves stayed where they were put, resigned to their fate. Donna then slipped the ones on the left side under too. These ones went easily. Finally, she had all the men under her sole. She bent down to watch the little crowd. “Fucking worms. I could probably fit a hundred of you under there. Start begging”. The slaves squirmed and screamed, staring up at the sole with new still-wet stains on it. All around them were the matching red marks on the cardboard box bottom. Donna decided she wanted more. Luckily she was near the bedroom door, and reached her hand into one of the deep pockets of her black leather trenchcoat that was hanging on the doorknob. She was close enough so she never even had to move her boot away from the begging crowd of slaves. She ran her hands through the nice collection of trapped men inside the pocket and scooped out as many as she could hold, probably about fifty. Donna spilled them all out into the box around her boot and commanded the confused little men to gather under her sole also. Amazingly, they began to obey! She giggled at the sight of dozens of tiny men swarming like ants to get under her riding boot-sole. It became so crowded under there that the slaves were crawling over each other to squeeze underneath. She lowered her sole just a bit to make them fit even tighter. “I want your bodies packed solid,” she commanded. When they were all under there, Donna revelled in the feeling. All those trapped bodies, wriggling like a mound of worms. She loved the sensation of their constant squirming as she felt it through her leather sole. “Are you all ready? Say my name, little slaves, as I squish you...” The trapped slaves tried to scream the name of Goddess Donna as the pressure from above increased. All Donna heard was faint sounds, mostl crunching and squeezing, as she lowered her sole abot half an inch. She wrapped her hands around either side of the sole to try and prevent the oozing guts from seeping out. She knew it would be hard. The men screamed and became mushed into one another, begging and dying and smearing like soft jelly. The layers of trapped bodies gave way as the sole pressed down another half-inch. Donna liked the wet trickles of juice she felt with her fingers around the sides of her sole. “You boys must be having a good time. It’s so cute”. She kept pressing; about an inch to go. The crushing sounds became mixed into a nice, long liquidy goo sound, as most of the bodies were ground into pure mush. Dona could feel the ones still alive squirming through the now thick layer of paste. She kept pressing until those bumps flattened. When her sole was finally pressed flat on the cardboard, she tried to sense if any bumps were still there, but it all seemed like goo. She gasped with excitement as she lifted her sole to look at the big puddle of mashed pulp. Her fingers were wet from the juice that had tried to escape, so she wiped them off on the soft leather of her hanging coat. Donna almost squealed with delight at the sight of the pressed mush-pile, roughly shaped like her sole. She looked closely at the mush but didn’t see anything alive.