Walking around the corner, the man who worships the Goddess, in all of Her glory, stood there, wide-eyed and wondering if She would pay him any mind. As She approached, he stood to the side, looking down, paying respect deserved of a Goddess, not wanting to meet eyes.
"Hello my servant," The Goddess whispered, not wanting anyone to know there were words spoken.
"My Goddess," answered the hollow man, avoiding eye contact, knowing that if he had, She would have spit on him.
"Follow me, young fool," She ordered.
Doing what was demanded, without looking up, only looking at the reigning feet, as if they were gold, priceless, and out of reach, the walk continued reaching a bench, under the shady green trees. Dusk was setting, giving the air a cool sense and turning the sky colors of red, yellow, orange, and purple mixed with dark blue. Remembering these colors, he reflected that these are the colors made when bruises are created, made first of red, purple, mixed with dark blue, and then the hues of green and yellow blending into nothingness.
Sitting on the bench, the order for the servant to stand behind the Goddess was made and not to make a sound.
"Work!," She stated.
He knew what She wanted and did so. Flexing the muscles around the neck, shoulders, and spine until the muscles were wrenched into soft mounds, ready to stretch comfortably in any direction, he worked the acid from aching tissues. He was careful, though, never to touch the skin, only to massage through the loose clothing.
Turning around, looking at the fool, She told him to come before Her, lay down on the floor in front of Her feet, and adore all the beauty set before him.
"Gaze upon me, servant, watch how My eyes look down upon your weak little body, only My beauty cannot be surpassed by any other. You will not find one as lovely as Me. My attributes far surpass any other female who should desire to walk on this green grass."
"My eyes are like pure blue water, without any green to pollute them. They are so pure, that if you look closely, you can see your reflection within. My skin is pink and fragrant as the softness of a rose petal, once touched by a man, spoiled. Thus, you may not touch Me because your salt, spilled upon My flesh by your dirty fingertips would always leave a scar. My neck, long and strong holds the beauty of My face framed by the golden strands of My hair, reflecting the sun's rays and blinding your eyes when seeing Me, but yet wanting to look again, only to be blinded by the radiance."
"My arms, strong from the using help me to push away the men who crowd around Me, always wanting to follow. But, as I reach out, I only choose one lucky enough to follow Me, who stares at My strong legs."
"Yes, My legs can outlast you, for you are a weakling. I despise your hollowed-in chest, a disgusting sight to My eyes. Therefore, I look away and am occupied, looking far away from the gaspers, like you, who are wishing they too, were on the ground admiring all My beauty."
As the troll laid on the grass, She stated, "You lay there, wanting to reach up and touch My silken soft leg, with its curves and softness that you can see - My beauty, which you, a sinewy man, will never attain. Don't touch, for you will not be able to match My beauty with any other. Now, be a good boy and slide your eye under the tip of My shoe, just so the filth which I picked up today, can adhere itself to the inside of your eyelid, scratching so as to sting. Be good and slither yourself under My shoe so the leather sole slides across your pupil back and forth like an ice skate. Feel the tears well up and slide out the corner of your eye as the filth burns and you take the pain as a good servant should. Be content and joyous that you can be underneath My kindness, as I have complete and utter disdain for your pitiful little self. Don't flinch as I gouge your eyeball with the spike of my heel, it can only be done once, as the orbit will pop like a water balloon gushing with a flourishing red ooze."
Of course, only in dreams would the flash of such a thought of gouging occur, for he would be marked and forever wear a patch of shame over the loss of his previous vision, lest he not be able to see the Goddess in all gloriousness and wonder.
But, as the shoe wandered over his face, as the movement desired, glossing over the skin with no pity, the grit from the bottom sole is smoothed against the lips, down over his neck, across his throat and wandering down his carotids finally settling on his chest with the heels against the nipple of his chest. His hair mingles with the leather of the sole pressing against his skin. He is breathing heavily at this time, and he wants more. More of the pressure of the heel scraping against his skin, only to lodge finally with a pressure-like ecstasy he has only had in his dreams.
That's it, the dream maker, the finalization of his fantasies, the Goddess is his "package". But, with this realization that he will have the shoe imprinted on his skin is the realization that his fright has only begun. With this pleasure, of course, comes the pain. The pain that he has wanted and masturbated over for years.
Looking away, this dream of happiness... delight... knowing he has seen women come and go with their delightful heels, and he has had many dreams of being beneath their feet.
While he, only has dreams, as watches these women, in his feeble mind, and he commands his brain to obey them. Yes, he dreams of these women who he longs to be close to, he kisses their necks only in his fantasies. In his dreams on the floor, he wants to be so close to the wanting, the needing.
Coming back, he watches as She takes the shoe once again and drapes it down to below to his scrotum. The space between the leg and the loin, the tender spot, the place where only he has been able to stroke for many a year as he has been a disgrace to his humanity and no woman would want to go there.
