The Hell- Bound Mistress (STORY) 1: The Gorgeous Foot

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Her tiny red brush stroked over the the proud Mistress' painted nails, whose foot she reverently held. A gorgeous foot, which she had long admired in private secrecy. But it was not her bubbling idolatry which kept her from looking above beyond her Mistress's pampered foot. It was fear that she was afraid to look up.

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Instead, the girl maid did her best to keep nothing shown on her stupid face. Unless her Mistress took offense to her stupid face again.

All things considered, It had been a good night for her Mistress, none of her moans were even fake. And although the pack of happy men had already left, drunk and laughing like yelping mad dogs, their curdled marks still stuck to the Mistress's cheeks and the ends of her red lips, like errant spiderwebs, or long white shifting whiskers in the night's breeze.

But neither she nor her Mistress paid any mind to it, it was a typical thing, of typical nights here. That premium face of her Mistress's is the Number One tourist attraction of the entire Red Light District after all, typically congested with so many male genitals.

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The Mistress adjusted her crimson sleeve of silk and took another leisure draft from her long opium pipe. Then she breathed a puff of swirling opium smoke in the space between the two of them. Her white painted face- despite the dirty streaks upon it- blushed with the warm buzz of sake and numbed from the slices of too much fugu sashimi. 

And although awake, her intoxicated head swayed aimlessly, bobbed to the unheard Shamisen music only she could hear. She looked like a stork, or white crane like creature, with gilded hairpins and caked in the mark of her customer's clinging seeds- which she wore like a badge of triumph.

A good night. Her brain's well fucked out. Several times over.

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And suddenly, she found herself the object of her Mistress's attention. The stork had turned on her and she felt herself watched and measured by the looming attention of the woman behind the swirling opium smoke.

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In that second of distraction, her paint mark brushed onto the Mistress's gorgeous white toes.

In a flash, the white foot which she had worshiped in her hand came to life and kicked the girl right in her face.

“You stupid piss pot!”

The mature woman hissed. This time the brass tip of the opium pipe cracked on the girl's skull and made a sound of dull splitting bone. A swirl of cinder and ash then doused on her like an enchanted cloud of soot. Instantly, the girl's kimono was inked by the black soot and they singed like exploding firecrackers on her teenage skin.