The sole of my husband covers me completely, and pins me effortlessly. Oh, how powerful he is in that moment! A true god. I'm nothing but a bug on a rug, a little lump for him to step on, unnoticed. The thought fills me with an equal mix of dread and excitement.
I try to push Mitchell's foot off of me, but the pressure only increases against my struggles and I'm pressed flatter into the carpet. I try to fill my lungs with enough air, but my crushed body can only take in stifled gasps of the manly smell of my husband's feet. It's raw and musky, and humiliating and exhilarating at the same time. Against my will I find myself fighting to breathe in more of his scent as it's the only air I can get, my face straining against the thin, damp material of his dress sock, the firm, thick, fleshy sole of his foot on the other side. And that's when I realized my mouth was a little open, and the salty taste of Mitchell's sweat floods my senses. It doesn't taste bad, but it's a shock, suddenly knowing what the sweaty sole of my husband, now a god, tastes like. I wonder how many other women in America know what their husband's feet taste like. Smell like. How it feels to be so utterly dominated by the man you married, now an all-powerful giant.
And I'm a bug, I remind myself. A bug under the foot of a god. I found that I didn't want to be a bug, and that my struggles became less like struggles and more like entreaties, my body moving and wriggling against his flesh sole in a way I hope pleased him. I breathed his scent in deeply now, eagerly, telling myself I could smell this smell the rest of my life if only I wasn't going to be crushed like a bug. The smell of his feet is arousing, even. A salty musk, like I was near the ocean. It was the scent of a god. My god, I suddenly thought. I start to kiss at the soft, moist fabric of his sock, pressing my face in deep so that I could feel it mold around me. "Please," I say, and kiss, "Please spare me, Mitchell. Please spare me, my god." And then I start licking at the sock, the salty taste of his sweat electrifying my tongue as I happily worship my god-husband.
Mitchell's foot suddenly lifts, though only a little bit, and his massive sole hovers overhead nearby as he looks down at me.
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