Evil Laura's The Delicious Death of Slave Danny

This story was written by Goddess Laura in response to a story by one of her slaves. See more information here, or read the slave's original story.

[reproduction of a story originally posted to Laura's website]

"The first version of this story was dated June 22nd, 1998

July 9th, 1998 — Definitive Version

The Usual Disclaimer: this story contains various passages not suitable for a healthy brain to digest and it is intended for the seriously demented only — the author included. If you don't fit in this category, please leave now or continue and consider yourself forewarned. My target audience is, mostly, pathetic tiny men who get their kicks from reading about the exploits of sexy evil women as myself. You'll all get a chance to appear here and be squashed, my dear slaves, I assure you. And, secondly, this story is also intended for my peers, my fellow evil giantesses, in the understanding that collaboration and communication are the best ways to crush as many men as possible. Keep squishing, gals!

The Delicious Death of Slave Danny

As Seen by Goddess Laura Herself

by the Goddess of Perversity Herself, a.k.a. Tormentress Supreme, Epitome of Satanic Loveliness, Towering Titaness of Destruction, Evil Seductress, Omnipotent Deity Of Destruction, Tormentress from Hell, Titanic Goddess of Terror, Evil Incarnate, Destroyer of Men, etc. (I haven't made up any of these titles — they are all sweet flatteries from my slaves; as they come up with more titles, I'll add them to the list...)

Some people are really ungrateful. Take Danny’s parents, for example. I was about to relieve them of a major pain in the butt. Had they just kept their mouths shut, and they would have lived happily ever after. But no. They had to make a “witty” remark. Well, too bad for them.

We were somewhere in the Caribbean, in a hotel bar by the beach. I had spotted them from kilometers away. American, red-necks, — red all over in fact, — ill-humored, disgustingly fat, complaining about everything and all too conscious of their so-called Yankee superiority over the locals. To make matters worse, they were disguised as tourists: didn’t they realize they were the only ones with flowery shirts?

The other reason I couldn’t help but notice them was that they were constantly arguing with their brat-son, Danny. Danny this, Danny that, I couldn’t stand it anymore! I was trying to read a good book — “The Robber Bride”, by Margaret Atwood, the lead character is another evil woman such as I, — but I couldn’t concentrate because they kept shouting at each other!

I had given up my reading and I was about to leave when Danny, unwittingly, signed his death warrant: I caught him staring at my feet.

At first, I was upset: another freaking foot guy? What am I, a foot pervert magnet or something? But then I realized that I could use that for my own benefit... I would entice him, offer him a drink with some shrinking potion, put him in my purse and... voila! I’d have peace and quiet to finish my book, — not to mention a plaything for later in my room.

I began to wriggle my toes vigorously and he was mesmerized, he was walking towards me with his stare firmly locked on my sandaled feet. Boys are SO naive! Then, I let out a muffled scream and I removed one of my sandals. I’m such an actress I deserve an award: I was rubbing my heel as if something had hurt me, all this while making a frightened-girl-in-need-of-male-help face. And he took a step closer.

Poor fool. He thought my sandal act was giving HIM a cue to touch my feet. Little did he know that his interest in my feet had given ME a cue to entice him and poison him...

“Are you ok?” he asked.

[This story, by the late Evil Laura, has been republished to the Evil Women blog (http://mulheresmalvadas.blogspot.com), the new home of Laura's stories. Please refer/link back to us if you reproduce or talk about this story, and don't remove this disclaimer.]

I’ll be ok very soon, I grinned to myself. But outwardly I made another almost-pain face:

“I felt something pinch me in the heel!”

And I threw my sandal in his lap. He got a hold of it and I could see he was making an effort not to bring it to his nose. I’ll never understand those guys. Why would he want to smell my sandal?? But he did. Yes, he did very much. And there was a bulge on his shorts to prove it:

“Maybe there’s a thorn on the sandal.” I said. He began inspecting the insole of the sandal and I pressed it against his face: “Can you see it?”

“Huh... No, I don’t see... a thing.”

One whiff at my sandal and — go figure! — the little pervert was in heaven already. But that wasn’t enough for me:

“Perhaps the thorn is in my flesh!” And I shoved my foot on his face. Hesitantly, he grabbed it and inspected it:

“Huh, I mean, I can’t see it...”

And you can’t stop touching it too, isn’t it?

“Well,” I said “it kind of tickles...”

Wasn’t he going to give me the standard foot freak line or would I be forced to ask? But soon enough he made the disinterested offer:

“Maybe a foot massage would help...”

“Ahhh!” I sighed, as feminine as I could “Would you do that for me?”

“But of course!”

Yeah, yeah, I just wasn’t in the mood for that, I wanted to go back to my book:

“That’s so gracious of you. Let me buy you a fruit juice while you massage my foot.”

Danny looked as if in rapture. I never thought my foot could mean so much to anyone but then I had never been with a virgin foot freak. That was probably the high point of Danny’s sex life so far. It wouldn’t get any higher, I chuckled to myself. Enjoy it while you can, Danny. As soon as the waiter arrives with the juice, you’ll swallow a massive dose of shrinking powder and I’ll be back to “The Robber Bride.” And then, in my room... Well, I know SO many ways to dispose of tiny, useless foot freaks... :)

“I bet your girlfriend loves your foot massage, Danny.” I teased.

“Huh, I don’t... I mean... I don’t have one.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I smiled “I bet all your former girlfriends adored it.”

Now the fool was blushing. He was so naive and incompetent that he had rested my foot on his erection! If it were any other man, I would have been offended. But it was obvious he didn’t meant it: he was just too confused. The overwhelming presence of a woman — of a woman’s foot, for crying out loud! — had overloaded his few neural pathways.

“I...” He hesitated “I never had a girlfriend.”

I was almost saying: “Of course not! You’re an ugly, spoiled geek who gets turned on by touching woman’s feet! Who would want anything with YOU?!” But I smiled at him, a warm, friendly smile, and said:

“I just can’t believe it, Danny!” And I looked around: where the fuck is the waiter?! “By the way, I’m Laura.”

He was so mixed up he didn’t even ask how did I know his name.

The waiter showed up as I was arguing with myself: should I mock him now or should I wait for later? Oh, what the hell: life is about having fun, isn’t it?

“Do you know that the queens of old had slaves to service their feet, Danny?”

He shook his head as the waiter handed me our drinks:

“Yes, and the funny thing is that those foot slaves were the lowest kind of slaves. And slaves are naturally low! But the foot work was just for the lowest of the low, the most pathetic of all slaves, the ones who couldn’t do anything else right! Real men, even if slaves, wouldn’t subject themselves to be foot slaves. Massaging women’s feet, like you’re doing now, was a job for the outcasts of outcasts...” I was smiling at him the whole time.

He frowned at me as I poured the powder in his drink, but that’s why I always order juice: I have the perfect cover:

“Just sweetener.” I said.

And he was SO happy. The boy was in a state of bliss only because he was touching my foot. I wonder: should I be touched by his joy? Should I be flattered that the mere contact with me — with my foot! — made another human being so unabashedly elated and ecstatic? Well, all I felt for him was contempt. My contempt for him was so enormous that I wasn’t even toying with the idea of killing him later: all I could think of was getting back to my novel.

His parents were walking in our direction as I was giving him the juice and that’s when it all changed. You should be grateful to me, I thought. I’m about to rid you of this pest, of this perverted geek! Of course you’ll be upset for a few days but soon you’ll see how your life has turned out for the best. You should thank me, I said to myself.

But instead they decided that it was a good day to die:

“Why is Danny massaging this woman’s foot?” the mother asked, so that I could hear. The glass with the poisoned juice was frozen on my hand.

“I don’t know!” said the father “But if she was wearing those old, ragged sandals” my sandal was still on Danny’s lap “then her feet must really STINK!”

And she laughs. That 150 kg woman laughs at ME!

[This story, by the late Evil Laura, has been republished to the Evil Women blog (http://mulheresmalvadas.blogspot.com), the new home of Laura's stories. Please refer/link back to us if you reproduce or talk about this story, and don't remove this disclaimer.]

Boy, I was pissed! First, my sandal was very nice and new, thank you. Second, my feet do not stink, I take very good care of them! And third, when I want to, I know very well how to make my feet stink! I’ve had two long relationships with foot freaks just like your son, I said to them in my mind, and I’m fully aware that my foot smell can be a most powerful aphrodisiac to perverts like them!

That was it. I had officially given up my novel. Now it was time for some fun. I promptly withdrew his juice (now it was not the time to drink it anymore) and I told Danny:

“Weren’t those your parents?”

He had heard them as well as I had and he was terribly embarrassed. He nodded.

“Why don’t you invite them to have some juice with us? They look like nice people.” As an evil, conniving woman, I have to admit that I do my share of bare-faced lying on a daily basis but very rarely was I so ashamed of lying as when I said that last sentence! I was biting my tongue!

“Huh... You sure...?”

I threatened to withdraw my foot from his lap:

“Of course I’m sure!” It’s because now they will die too, Danny. One happy family.

It was clear that they didn’t like me but they came anyway. Such cheap people won’t refuse free juice even if offered by the devil himself. And, well... As far as the devil himself goes, I’m not there yet in terms of evilness but I certainly do my best! :)

The rest is history. Danny stopped massaging my foot when his parents came and I got an inkling at how much he was afraid of both: his fear of them was greater than even his pleasure of touching me! Even their small talk was dull and they kept looking at my sandal and chuckling. Mercifully, the new round of juice arrived faster than the previous one, I added some free sweetener to it and... pronto! Before they could understand what was happening, all three of them were in my purse.

Time to see what a stinky foot can do. I placed “The Robber Bride” carefully in my purse, I didn’t want to squish them just yet, and I trotted merrily to my room. Happiness is a funny thing: of all people who walked by me that afternoon, who would have guessed that I was so exhilarated because I knew I was about to commit a most delicious triple murder?

When I took them out of my purse, my room was ready for the executions: I had three towels on the floor, each displayed in a circle. All I had to do was step on them inside the circle and the towel would stop the blood from spreading. Simple and neat.

I put them over my bed and as they were shouting and screaming and asking what the hell was going on, etc, I ceremoniously took off my sandals and let them fall on the floor, one by one. Then I showed them my foot:

“It’s two thirty.” I said “You have about three minutes to live.” Announcing my victims’ death sentence is always one of my favorite parts: “What do you want to do? Pray, apologize, plead...?”

They were all screaming at once:

“Oh, what the hell, I can’t hear you. I don’t care anyway. Let’s get it over with!”

I grabbed the woman.

“I hope you appreciate the trouble I going through for you. If I merely wanted you dead, I would simply flush you down the toilet. It would be so much simpler! But no, I think you should really have a first-hand look at my foot. I’ll clean up later, no problem...”

I placed the mother inside one of the towel circles and I lowered my bare foot over her:

“Ok, here goes the first one...”

They kept screaming from the bed but I paid no attention to them. The mother, on the other hand, was squirming delightfully under my sole. Maybe I wouldn’t kill her just yet. A little teasing is always fun, make them think they have reason to hope...

I lowered my head and said to her: “Would you like to live?”

“Yes! Yes! Please don’t do that!”

I grinned at her: “I’m SO sorry. I was going to squish only your son, but then your husband said my feet were stinky and you laughed! I can’t have people laughing at me. I have to crush you.” And I applied a little pressure to get my point across: “By the way, as long as you’re down there, do you still think my foot stinks?”

“Please don’t make me say that! I want to live!”

Couldn’t she realize she was already dead and I was just having a little fun? Hope sometimes borders on stupidity. I laughed at her:

“I want to live too, so what? I’ve asked you a question.”

I had to bring my head real close to listen to her: “It’s not your fault. We did not mean to imply you were smelly. But it was a hot day, we all sweat. And the feet sweat a lot—

[This story, by the late Evil Laura, has been republished to the Evil Women blog (http://mulheresmalvadas.blogspot.com), the new home of Laura's stories. Please refer/link back to us if you reproduce or talk about this story, and don't remove this disclaimer.]

“So they stink, that’s what you mean?”

She couldn’t answer. She just squirmed. It felt good on my soles. They were sweaty, really: I could feel her body sliding under my sole. By now, my foot sweat must have been all over her body.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Well, I hope you’re enjoying the smell, it’s the last thing you will ever feel! Comfy? I’m about to start...”

Her whole body was covered by my foot, except her head. Very slowly, I increased the pressure. Under the pressure and the weight, she squirmed less and less. Such a delicious feeling, to snuff a life away as if it were nothing, because of a comment that bothered me. That’s what freedom is all about. I felt good, I felt young. I felt evil and powerful.

She could have been reading my thoughts, for her last words (spoken with increasing difficulty) were:

“Dead because of a silly comment!”

And wasn’t that the beauty of the thing? That I was so powerful and evil that no one was safe? That the merest remark might be a death sentence?

One by one, I felt her bones cracking under my sensitive soles and I wriggled my toes merrily over her body. And then came that all too familiar feeling, of a live, solid body turning mushy and wet, as my victim’s blood bathes my foot... Hmm, nothing quite so delicious... And her husband and son kept screaming the whole time...

When I was finished, her whole body was almost liquefied but her head was still intact beside my foot. I turned to him:

“I have just crushed your wife to death with my...” I gave him a naughty grin “stinky foot. Her head is still intact, though. If you would like to say goodbye to her, you might kiss the toe with which I’ll crush her head. Then, you’re next.”

He nodded and I brought him to where his wife’s severed head was. I raised my big toe over him:

“This is the toe. Kiss it and say goodbye to your wife.”

The man was very quiet, almost in shock. He kissed my toe gently — it was blood soaked, disgusting — and he took a step back and fell on his behind Slowly, I lowered the toe and, with the least possible effort, I burst her head like a grape. He was sitting down, crying softly, and he never screamed.

“Well, you thought my feet were stinky, huh? Wait until you get real close to them!”

Under his watchful stare, I took care of his wife. I wrapped the towel around her remains and pressed the cloth over it, to absorb the blood. Then, I let it stay there. I could clean it later. I was reaching for another towel to wipe the blood off my feet when the idea stroke me:

“You don’t have to die, you know.” I told the father “I might spare you. Would you like to live?”

He approached me, hope gleaming in his eyes:

“Please, I was wrong, we were wrong. You’re clearly a goddess, nothing about you stinks. Let me live and I’ll worship you forever.”

Men! They’ll say anything if they think it will save them!

I showed him my huge, blood-dripping sole:

“Lick your wife’s blood off my sole” I smiled “and tell me how glad you are that I killed her and how much you want to serve me.”

I loved his face! He didn’t move a muscle but his whole body seemed to be struggling: disgust or survival? Which one should he choose?

“Worship the foot that killed your wife!” I commanded.

But now he was hesitating for too long:

“Ok, offer is withdrawn. You’ll be crushed as planned!”

I raised my foot over him and he stretched his arms, trying to touch my soles, making his last bid at survival:

“Please, Laura, no! Don’t make me do it! I love you, not her! She was fat and ugly, you’re young and beautiful! I sincerely want to worship you! Let me live and I’ll kiss your stinky toes every day!”

I lowered my foot over him.

“Sorry. As I said, offer is withdrawn! Besides, my toes are not stinky!”

This time I was pissed and I didn’t delay the killing. I clenched my teeth and squished him in a single move. Then I played for a while with his remains, I pointed my big toes at his skull, I wriggled my toes over his torso. I can’t allow myself to be pissed, I keep telling myself. He could have suffered so much more and, because I lost control, it was all over in a second for him!

That’s ok, I said, I would compensate with Danny. He was the one I was going to crush in the first place, anyway. I began to wipe the blood from my toes with a towel and I said, without even bothering to turn:

“Dannyyyeee!” I chanted “Guess what? It’s your turn... And I know how much you LOVE my feet...”

Danny was shaking bad. I grabbed him and I tried to sound encouraging:

“Don’t be afraid, Danny. I’ll be fast with you. I really want to get back to my novel...”

I placed him on the floor and I rested my foot on its heel:

“Ready?”

“Why, Laura?”

“What do you mean why?”

“I mean, I understand that my parents pissed you off. They’re jerks, I’ve known that all life. Their comment was really uncalled for and nasty. They deserved what happened to them!”

I laughed at him, thoroughly amused:

“And you don’t deserve it, I guess...”

“I love you, Laura. I offered to help you. I gave you a foot massage! I would never say anything bad about your feet! Or about you! I’d love to kiss and lick your toes... I dream about it!...”

I was still laughing: “I’m sure of that! So, what do you mean? Once your parents are out of the way, it’s you and me against the world?”

“Right!” he said, enthusiastic.

“You really love me, don’t you?”

And he nodded, absolutely serious: “I sure do.”

“Ahh,” I sighed, staring straight at him “you have no idea how much this pleases me... It’s always better to squish a man who loves me... It feels “righter”, don’t ask me why...”

Poor Danny just couldn’t understand the rules: “Are you going to crush me to death like you did my parents?”

I mimicked him: “I sure am!”

He was confused: “But why?? I would love to worship your toes forever...”

“I know, Danny. That makes this all the more delicious! I’m sure you’ll love me to the very end...”

“Laura, I REALLY love you...”

I gave him a tender smile now: “I have never doubted that, Danny. But you were going to be squished from the start. From the moment you touched my foot, you’re doomed. Your parents just came along for the ride because of their comments. But you... You were coming anyway!”

My foot was still resting on its heel and I was getting restless, my toes were wriggling: “Ready or not?”

“So to touch your foot is to be doomed?”

I couldn’t suppress this one more laugh: “Ahh, you could say so, Danny... I guess you picked the wrong foot to admire! Now I really have to go read my novel! Excuse me!”

And I lowered my foot over him as he begged one more time:

“Please spare me! I’ll be your best foot slave and worshipper!”

“I’m sorry, Danny, but all my little slaves have to die. It’s an old rule. Now sit still because I’m going to crush you like a grape...”

He wouldn’t go without a fight. He turned and squirmed and tried to run but, when my weight gained the best of him, he was still under my sole, staring at me from between my big toe and the next, that look of incredulity in his face as if he really couldn’t believe that he was being crushed to death by that same foot that had so turned him on a few minutes ago... To be honest, he was still turned on: I have not only the experience to feel such things but I also have some very sensitive soles. As I lowered my foot, I could sense his erection on my sole and, after a minimal pressure, I could see from Danny’s face that he had come. He was still staring at me. Another bit of pressure, though, and his cock broke under my sole. Oh, that must have hurt! Danny now began to scream uncontrollably and I decided to put him out of his misery. I blew him a kiss — I love to blow them sexy, alluring kisses as they die! — and I clenched my toes together around his tiny head. Bye-bye, my loving Danny!

After that, there was no more reason to hurry and I took my time squishing the rest of Danny’s body to pulp. It’s always good to feel a slave’s body mashed under my foot. And now there was nothing left of poor Danny but some blood on my sole and stains on a hotel towel...

Ah, and I really recommend “The Robber Bride” to you. I finished it that same night! What a good read!

The End!
of their lives, of their hopes, of their dreams, etc etc... :)

The Evil Queen Laura doesn't hang around #!!Giantess anymore... You may find her at her home page, that is, here!, or by clicking on the link below to send her mail. Tell us all your opinions and reactions to these stories.

Good old Word takes care of spelling mistakes but the Evil Queen Laura fortunately is not American and her native tongue is not English. So, if you find awkward sentences, usage mistakes and common expressions used out of their normal context... Well, that's your problem! ! And my deepest thanks to Mr.Floorplan, who's helped me a lot with the revision of this story, proof-reading, etc!

Feel free to distribute this story around. The more readers the better. You may send it via e-mail to your friends, post it in newsgroups, in giantess home pages, anything. Just don't change a word, a comma or a paragraph. This is my story and, mistakes and all, that's the way it's supposed to be. If you have a problem, write your own story: don't edit mine!

Wouldn't you just love to be publicly humiliated in the Shrine too? Just like I did to Slave Danny? Well... Write me and beg! Who knows? I might even grant your wishes... Here's what's left of Danny after I was through playing with him! And, still, you envy him, don't you? You're so pathetic! I won't even step on you! Go back!

Isn't it cute? See those tiny blotches on the floor? These are all the puny slaves who came in here to enjoy my story! I made it a point to reward each of them personally! Now it's your turn! C'mon, don't be shy, I know you like this! Comfy? Ok then, I'll lower my foot real slowly so that you can savour all my sole wrinkles and the cute way I wriggle my toes... I bet you're loving this, aren't you? It's such a thrill to be able to make your last moments so pleasant! Hmm... It tickles when you crunch! What a delicious feeling! Isn't it romantic that you're thinking of me as you died? Well, gotta go know! There's another tiny man coming in and I have to reward him too!!"

Read Slave Danny's original story.