The relentless pounding of Nuki’s steps carried you deeper into her suffocating grasp, her toes flexing and squeezing around you with a mindless rhythm as she walked. The air was thick, damp with sweat, and each step ground your tiny body against the soaked rubber thong of her flip-flop, pressing your skin into its slick, well-worn surface. Every impact sent a fresh shockwave through you—an unbearable mix of pressure, heat, and the overwhelming scent of her foot.
The rhythm of her gait became hypnotic. Slap. Squelch. Squeeze. Each step an endless cycle of torture, your body crushed and massaged beneath her toes, the sweat-drenched thong trapping you in its oppressive grip. The sensation of her skin shifting against yours, hot and damp, only made the experience more overwhelming.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, Nuki slowed.
Through the haze of pain and suffocation, you felt the shift in her movement as she stepped inside a building—the temperature instantly cooler, the heavy scent of sweat and summer air giving way to something more neutral. The hollow echo of her flip-flops on the tile floor sent new vibrations through your aching body. She had entered a café.
Her weight shifted as she moved toward the counter. You could hear the murmur of conversation, the clatter of plates and cups, the indistinct hum of the world continuing above you, completely unaware of your suffering. The thought made you feel even smaller—trapped, crushed, and helpless beneath a giant who didn’t even acknowledge your existence.
You felt her shift again, planting both feet firmly on the floor as she stood still, waiting. The pressure of her toes eased ever so slightly, just enough for you to gasp in a breath of air—only to be hit with the pungent, salty musk that had soaked into the foam of her flip-flop. The acrid scent burned your throat, clinging to your tongue as if her sweat had seeped into every breath you took.
And then, as if she had suddenly remembered you, her toes twitched.
A single, deliberate flex of her digits sent your battered form squirming against the thong. She squeezed tighter this time, her toes pressing into you with unyielding force, molding your face deeper against the slick surface of the rubber. A casual, absentminded motion—like someone playing with a stray pebble caught in their shoe.
She ordered her food, completely unbothered.
Minutes stretched into eternity as she stood there, casually shifting her weight from foot to foot, unknowingly grinding your body against the damp rubber. Each slight movement, each subtle wiggle of her toes, sent fresh waves of pain through you, your body trapped in an unrelenting cycle of pressure and heat.
Then, she moved again.
The slap of her flip-flops against the floor signaled her walk to a table. The world around you trembled with every step, the flip-flop smacking against her sole, pressing you harder against the thong before peeling away with a damp, sticky squelch. The air grew thicker, the scent of her foot saturating your lungs as sweat trickled down between her toes, soaking into your skin.
She sat down.
For a moment, there was silence—save for the dull hum of conversation above. You could feel her foot shift beneath the table, toes flexing absentmindedly, as though testing your limits. Then, suddenly, a new pressure surrounded you.
Her fingers.
They closed around your tiny body with an effortless grip, peeling you from the damp thong and lifting you through the air. The transition was dizzying—the cool café air hitting your sweat-soaked skin like a shock. But before you could react, before you could even process the shift in position, you were shoved face-first into the burning heat of her sole.
The contact was suffocating.
Your face pressed into the slick, sweat-coated flesh, every ridge and crease of her skin imprinting against your skin. The overpowering musk of her foot sweat flooded your senses, thick and sour, clinging to your tongue and filling your nose until it was all you could taste, all you could breathe. Her fingers pressed you harder, grinding you into the warm, damp flesh beneath her toes, smearing the sticky residue across your face and body.
The smooth skin of her sole was slightly damp, her sweat acting as a thin, slippery layer that made it impossible to resist. She rubbed you against her foot slowly, deliberately, dragging your tiny form along the curves and arches, as though savoring the sensation of your struggles against her skin.
Then, she moved you lower.
Her fingers forced your face directly beneath the crevice of her toes, the oppressive heat intensifying as you were wedged into the tight space. The scent here was even stronger—richer, more concentrated, the very essence of her foot reduced to an unbearable musk that coated your tongue and filled your lungs with every gasping breath.
She held you there.
A moment of stillness. As if savoring the feeling of your helpless body squirming beneath her grip.
And then—SLAP.
The impact sent a jolt through you as she smacked her flip-flop back against her sole, your body still wedged between them. The force of it rattled your bones, driving the air from your lungs in a silent scream. SLAP. Another blow. The wet squelch of sweat-soaked rubber colliding with her foot rang in your ears. SLAP. Each hit compressing you further, forcing your face deeper against her damp skin.
Your battered body barely had time to recover before Nuki’s fingers curled around you once more, lifting you from the floor. Her grip was firm but effortless, like she was holding nothing more than a piece of lint stuck to her skin. As she brought you closer, your stomach twisted with dread, your body still aching from the relentless torment between her toes.
Then, she flipped her sandal over.
The sight made your breath hitch. The bottom of her flip-flop was an absolute nightmare—worn, darkened with grime, coated in a layer of dirt and sweat collected from countless steps. The imprint of her foot was burned into the rubber, each curve and indentation formed from years of use, her sweat and natural oils permanently staining the sole. Tiny flecks of dirt and dust clung to the surface, wedged into the grooves like they had been absorbed into the material itself.
Nuki held you just above the disgusting surface, her fingers pressing into your sides, forcing you to stare at the filth-covered imprint of her foot. You gagged at the sight, but there was no time to react before she shoved your face directly against it.
“Lick.”
The word was barely a whisper, almost lazy, yet laced with unmistakable dominance.
Your lips trembled as they made contact with the grimy sole. The rubber was rough, uneven, slick in some places where her sweat had seeped deep into the material, yet grainy and dry in others where the dirt had settled. The taste was unbearable—a bitter, stale combination of sweat, dust, and grime, the accumulated filth of every step she had ever taken compressed into a single, overwhelming sensation that coated your tongue.
You hesitated, your body frozen in horror.
Her grip tightened.
Without warning, she dragged you across the bottom of the flip-flop, rubbing your face and body against every disgusting inch of the sole. The rough texture scraped against your skin, the embedded dirt grinding into you as she smeared you across the grimy rubber like you were nothing more than a cleaning rag. Your mouth was forced open with the motion, your tongue unwillingly dragging across the sweat-drenched surface, the bitter, acrid taste of foot grime flooding your senses.
Her fingers pressed harder, forcing you deeper into the filth. She rubbed you along the ball of the sole, where the rubber was the smoothest, softened from the constant pressure of her steps. Then, she dragged you down to the heel, where the grime was thickest, the imprint of her foot almost burned into the material from years of sweat and pressure. Each motion was slow, deliberate, ensuring that every part of you was coated in the sweat-soaked residue of her sole.
She shifted you slightly, pressing your lips to the deepest part of her footprint, where the rubber had molded perfectly to the shape of her foot over time.
“Lick deeper.”
You obeyed, your tongue pressing into the well-worn groove, tasting the concentrated essence of every step she had taken. The dirt stuck to your mouth, the overwhelming sour tang of dried sweat making you gag, but her grip didn’t falter. She kept you there, smearing your face in the filth, forcing you to acknowledge every inch of the flip-flop she had walked in for years.
Then, she shifted you again—this time, to the edges of the sole, where the rubber was slightly frayed from overuse. She ran your face along the rim, making sure the coarse, dirty material scraped against your skin. Every movement coated you further in the grime of her daily life, your body dragged along the very surface that had stomped through streets, sidewalks, and dirty floors without a second thought.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she stopped.
Her fingers relaxed, but only for a moment. Then, without warning, she flipped the sandal back over and slapped it against her sole—
SLAP.
The impact sent a sharp jolt through you, pressing you against her foot once again, this time completely coated in the filth of the sole. SLAP. Another blow, forcing your body to grind between her skin and the disgusting rubber, the sweat from her foot mixing with the grime stuck to you, turning it into a filthy, humid paste that smeared against your face and body.
Satisfied, she finally lowered her foot, dropping you unceremoniously to the floor.
her flip-flop hovered once more, her toes curling slightly as she prepared for the final step.
A shadow loomed over you.
Nuki’s foot hovered above, her toes curling slightly as she adjusted the flip-flop. There was no hesitation, She stepped down.
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