Shoe Slave
As I stand before my mirror, admiring the towering height of my stilettos, a sudden movement catches my eye. A tiny figure, barely visible, crawls out from under the bed. It's my once-proud gardener, diminished to the size of a shoe. He looks up at me with pleading eyes, his voice barely a whisper.
"Mistress Drea..." he manages to say, his words trembling with fear and desperation. I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt for what I'm about to do. A virus has ravaged the city, shrinking people to mere inches unless they can afford the life-saving vaccine. My heart hardens as I remember the look of terror on my gardener's face when he realized he couldn't afford it.
"Well, well, well," I say, lifting one impossibly long leg onto a chair so I can get a better look at him. "It seems my little shoe slave has found his way back to me."
With a sigh, I bend down, my breasts looming over him like mountains. He shrinks further into himself, his eyes fixed on my shoes. It's as if he's forgotten I'm even there, lost in a world of his own.
"Don't worry, little one," I whisper softly. "You'll be taking care of these babies from now on." I let out a low chuckle as he finally looks up at me, confusion written across his tiny face. "That's right, slave. From now on, you're my personal shoe cleaner. You'll lick every inch of these shoes clean and keep them looking spick-and-span. And since you're my slave now, I think it's only fair that you buy me new shoes with whatever money you have left."
I stand up, towering over him, and he trembles in fear. But there's also something else in his eyes: resignation. He knows his life has changed forever, and there's no going back. As I walk out the door, leaving him behind, I can't help but feel a twinge of sadness. But then I remind myself that this is the new normal. And in this world, there are those who have the power to shape it, and those who are powerless to resist it.
