Curiosity Got Tom Catt

Tears of self-pity coursed down Tom's cheeks as obediently he inhaled the haughty and imperious FlyAway Airlines check-in girl Larissa's pungent and heady under-the-toes scent, his nose toe-cupped and the bottom of her heel planted firmly on his forehead in dominant emphasis.

Larissa had told Tom to run to Gate 2 - and he should have! Tom had missed his flight to Warsaw, and he knew now that he was professionally doomed and personally ruined - and that Larissa was his nemesis. Larissa had sneakily biffed him on the back of his head with a lead-weighted leather cosh - to imprison him as a foot slave! Tom had resolved to bring Larissa down a peg or two - but now, Larissa had him under her heel, forcing him to inhale her 'hot and sweaty - and stinky' nyloned foot scent.

Larissa, the cruel cause of his dramatic downfall and the first of his many such subjugators during the next seventy-two hours, laughed down at him, heartless and derisive. "Believe me, Mr. Catt, this is nothing! From now to Monday morning, twenty-four hours a day and almost without respite, you will have a lot worse than me and my stinky feet to cry about!"

Larissa then proceeded to massage her right foot. Larissa rubbed her flesh-coloured nyloned sole on Tom's helpless near floor-level face - up and down, up and down, up and down over Tom's chin, sealed-up lips, nose and forehead, Tom's conveniently positioned face absorbing more and more of Larissa's pungent nyloned foot scent. "Hmmm... this is so nice, Mr. Catt - I love to massage my feet! And yes, Mr. Catt - do cry! Cry for me! Cry your heart out! I love to see our captive foot slaves cry! Yes, cry - as first they realise and then later reflect on what their nosiness has cost them! Or, in your case, Mr. Catt - your curiosity!"

Larissa and Tom heard the sounds of approaching transient female aircrews chatting post-flight as they pulled their dolly trolleys behind them, the wheels rolling smoothly on the smooth-concreted female-dedicated foot slave-facilitated air services corridor.

Larissa reinserted her right foot into her red three-inch heel uniform pump. "Time to go! But I'll see you later, Mr. Catt - or can I call you Tom? Ha ha ha!"

Tom listened to Larissa's red three-inch heel uniform pumps click-clack towards the approaching air hostesses, calling to them a bright-voiced 'Hello' and 'Enjoy!' and 'Him on the left is new - I just installed him!'

Tom knew he would see more of Larissa during the next seventy-two hours as she repeatedly returned to 'massage her feet'. But Tom was resolved on one thing - resolved! Larissa would not see him cry again - he could at least deny her that!

And now, listening to the sounds of approaching air hostesses and their wheeled-luggage 'dolly trolleys', Tom knew he could expect to have 'a lot worse' than his nemesis, the FlyAway Airlines check-in girl Larissa, to contend with during his unremitting seventy-two-hour waking nightmare.

***

"Carol-Ann - my feet are killing me!"

The accent was distinctly American, and Tom's assumption was duly confirmed when the air hostess who had spoken parked her Stars and Stripes logoed dolly trolley by 'Tom's' wall. Another five Stars and Stripes logoed dolly trolleys joined the first, parked against 'his' wall.

"Missy - so are mine! So don't be selfish - don't take too long with him. I'm dying to have my turn with him! I've been looking forward to this since we left LA! I love massaging my stinky feet on helpless men's faces! I mean - what fun!" Carol-Ann looked down on Tom and smiled. "And this one - he's real cute!"

Tom saw that the six American air hostesses gathered around his near floor-level face wore dark blue jackets and short skirts, dark nylons and black three-inch heel uniform pumps.

"Well, I'm just about dead on my feet," one of the other American air hostesses said. "My feet are killing me too - but I'm bushed. I guess I'll take a raincheck. You girls enjoy yourselves with this shmuck. I'll go ahead. I'll register at our airport hotel for our overnight stay. I'll book a table for breakfast and book our table for dinner tonight. Melissa, I'll tell the hotel receptionist you will all be along to register in a few minutes."

"Okay then, Belinda," said Missy. "I'll catch up with you in a minute."

Missy looked down on Tom's entrapped and immobile face and smiled at him. "Hi - loser! I'm Missy - just in from LA. So, you are a new foot guy, huh? Just installed? Well, great - I get to break you in! So, get ready for Missy! I'm a rank-pulling Chief Stewardess who always insists on having the first go with you foot guys. Loser - get ready for Missy's stinky feet!"

Missy turned her back on Tom, and despite his predicament, the leg-man in Tom compelled him to compliment Missy mentally on her shapely calves and thighs. Missy then eased free her left dark-nyloned foot from her black three-inch heel uniform pump and immediately pressed her sole against Tom's captive face and cupped her toes under his nose.

"Mmmm... mmmmm... mmmmmm!" mumbled Tom through his superglue-sealed lips in muted protestation. Missy's dark-nyloned long-haul under-the-toes odour shocked Tom to his core. Missy's just-unshod long-distance post-flight foot scent was incredible - unimaginable. Tom tried to resist, but movement sideways was severely restricted, so he moved his head up or down in his pitiful bid to evade Missy's mindblowing under-the-toes scent.

"Oh, yeah?" said Missy in a challenge-relishing tone. "Foot guy loser - you asked for it!" Missy reached for the dial inset into the wall and turned it clockwise to the maximum to power up the 'footlights'. Tom shut his eyes tight against the searing white light from the four angled halogens, but the baleful brilliance penetrated his tightly closed eyelids like strong sunlight through rice paper and bathed his brain. Within seconds, Tom felt the onset of the migraine-like headache induced by the awful radiance. Soon, all Tom could see was a snow blizzard-like whiteout with dancing black spots. "Foot guy - you will submit and behave!" commanded Missy. "Or, not only will I leave the footlights on at full power - I will toe-pinch your nose closed to cut off your air until you do! You will keep your head still for me - and sniff!"

Tom Catt submitted and behaved. Larissa had told him it was futile to resist - and it was. Larissa was right - he should save his energy. Save his strength - to endure his seventy-two-hour waking nightmare ordeal.

Tom could not tolerate the terrible four-beamed halogen glare. Tom obeyed Missy and sniffed her just-landed long-haul dark-nyloned under-the-toes scent. Tom's mind reeled from the stinky pong, but he sniffed. "That's right - good! That's good - foot guy loser! Keep sniffing!"

"Missy! Let another girl have her turn with the foot guy!" complained Carol-Ann peevishly. "Don't be selfish! There's a queue of hosties wanting their turn with him."

"Carol-Ann - in a sec!" responded Missy waspishly as she massaged her left dark-nyloned sole on the left side of Tom's face. "In a sec - okay? And I'm leaving the footlights on at full power - this foot guy's gotta learn!"

Missy - or Chief Stewardess Melissa - reinserted her left foot into her black three-inch heel uniform pump. Missy then eased free her dark-nyloned right foot from her pump and promptly placed her sole on Tom's face as before, cupping his nose under her toes.

"Foot guy loser - you know what to do! Sniff! Keep your face still for me - and sniff! And sniff deep! Or else! Sniff the stink from under my toes! Obey me instantly, and I might consider turning down the footlights."

Tom was done now with his resisting - he didn't want the footlights. Tom obeyed Missy and sniffed her right foot - sniffed deep. Tom kept his face still and sniffed the stink from under Missy's long-haul, dark-nyloned toes.

Missy then massaged her right dark-nyloned sole, firmly rubbing up and down, up and down, up and down as she had done on the left side of Tom's captive face, and now his right cheek was taking on more and more of Missy's long-distance flight duty foot stink.

Missy finally reinserted her massaged right foot into her black three-inch heel uniform pump and stepped aside. "There - I'm done. Foot guy loser - thanks for the foot massage! As your reward for submitting and behaving, I'll turn down the footlights."

"Me next!" said Carol-Ann.

"Yeah, Carol-Ann. He's all yours. He will submit and behave, keep his face still for you. Carol-Ann, I've broken this new foot guy in for you."

Carol-Ann said, "Missy, you know? I like to do that myself! And anyway, I think that FlyAway Airlines check-in girl who said she installed him had already made some real headway with him - you know? She sure looks the kind!"

Carol-Ann stepped close to Tom's captive near floor-level face and turned her back on it. Despite his circumstances, the leg-man in Tom could not stop him from mentally admiring Carol-Ann's attractive legs. Carol-Ann then eased free her left foot from her black three-inch heel uniform pump, immediately rested her dark-nyloned sole on Tom's face, cupped her toes under Tom's nose and planted the bottom of her heel firmly on his forehead in subjugative control. "Come on!" said Carol-Ann harshly to Tom. "Foot guy - you know what to do! Sniff! Sniff under my stinky toes - loser! And sniff deeply! I've only got you for a minute - so come on! Obey me - now! There are a lot more hosties waiting for their turn with you!"

Tom did not consider disobeying Carol-Ann, did not consider resisting her - he didn't want the footlights. And neither did Tom want Carol-Ann to pinch his nose closed with her toes to cut off his air - forcing him to submit and behave, anyway, utterly defeated.

Tom kept his face still as required and sniffed - sniffed deeply. Tom inhaled deeply from under Carol-Ann's long-haul dark-nyloned toes - and he marvelled in disbelief at the mindboggling odour. But Tom did not resist. He did not move his face evasively - he did not deny Carol-Ann her 'little pleasure'.

Carol-Ann then massaged her left foot on the left side of Tom's face, firmly rubbing up and down, up and down, up and down, Tom's left cheek absorbing more and more of Carol-Ann's long-haul flight duty foot funk. Carol-Ann reinserted her left foot into her black leather three-inch heel uniform pump and now eased free her right foot. Tom knew what to expect. Carol-Ann immediately rested her dark-nyloned right sole on Tom's acquiescent face, cupping his nose under her freshly unshod toes and firmly planting the bottom of her heel on his forehead in a supremely dominant pose. Carol-Ann talked down to Tom gleefully. "Foot guy - loser! Now, my other foot - do the same again. Sniff! Sniff - and sniff deeply! Take some good long whiffs from under my stinky toes! Do it - foot guy loser!"

Tom did as ordered by his latest stinky-feet subjugator, Carol-Ann. Tom repeatedly inhaled some good long whiffs from under the dark-nyloned toes of Carol-Ann's right foot - barely able to believe the mind-reeling magnitude of her long-distance post-flight foot scent. But Tom did not resist - he obeyed Carol-Ann. Satisfied, Carol-Ann then massaged the dark-nyloned sole of her right foot on the right side of Tom's unresisting face, Tom's right cheek absorbing more and more of Carol-Ann's diabolical long-haul post-flight foot scent. Carol-Ann finally talked down to Tom. "There, I'm done now. Thanks for the great foot massage - loser!"

"At last, Carol-Ann! And good - because I'm next!" The name tag on the uniform blouse of the American air hostess who had spoken told Tom that her name was Sheree. The remaining two air hostesses were Dana and Cora - the sixth air hostess, Belinda, had 'taken a raincheck'. Sheree said, "Dora, Cora, we will have to be quick with our turns with the foot guy - the queue of hosties behind us wanting their turns with him is getting longer."

And now Sheree was all business as she stepped up to Tom's captive near floor-level face and turned her back on it. Tom knew what was coming - utter humiliation - but the leg-man in him could not stop him from mentally praising Sheree's great legs. Sheree wasted no time, easing free her left foot from her black three-inch heel uniform pump and resting her dark-nyloned sole on Tom's resigned and unresisting face, cupping her toes under his nose and planting the bottom of her heel firmly on his forehead. Sheree talked down to Tom sharply. "You couldn't leave well alone, could you? You couldn't mind your own business! You were going to interfere with something that did not concern you! Weren't you? So this is where your nosiness got you - right here! Now - foot guy - this is what happens to nosy parkers - like you! So - come on! You know what to do!"

Tom knew what he had to do - and he did it.

Tom didn't want the footlights.

***

The FlyAway Airlines check-in girl, Larissa, had been right. Tom had been 'used and abused' by dozens of just-landed air hostesses - short-haul and long-haul - during his first two hours of captivity as their female-dedicated air services passageway face-in-the-wall foot slave.

Next up after Missy - Chief Stewardess Melissa - and the four out of five other American air hostesses of her crew who had wanted to 'massage their feet', most notably to Tom, were the standout personalities of the six Australians, four French, six South Africans, five Irish, and the six Indians whose bare soles ranged from the colour of light caramel to rich roast coffee granules.

The one constant was that the just-landed air hostesses who parked their dolly trolleys against 'his' wall' would first cup their nyloned or bare just-unshod toes under Tom's nose for him to inhale their under-and-between-the-toes scent before they 'massaged their feet'.

Tom Catt would never have believed that these random representations of the countless pleasant and personable air hostesses he'd flown with worldwide could treat him this way. He was nothing to them - just a face in the wall. Just an amusement! Just their on-their-way-to-the-exit female-dedicated passageway near-floor-level hole-in-the-wall foot slave. That was the reality.

Tom Catt then discovered the method of his close confinement.

Tom heard three bolts drawn behind him: at his lower back, at his backside, and the last one at his ankles. Then Tom was rotated 180 degrees to find himself facing the basement corridor. Tom could step down the four or five inches to the basement floor, down from his back-boarded semi-circular shape confinement. And looking down, Tom saw that four or five inches was his limit - Tom saw his ankles in shackles!

"You look quite traumatised, Mr Catt. And you have only been serving us for two hours - your settling-in period, to allow you to come to terms with the reality of your seventy-two-hour situation. Heaven knows what your mental state will be seventy hours from now. And so, really, you should thank us, Mr. Catt, for wiping all of your airport memories before we release you. No lasting harm done to you - so we are all happy!"

Tom saw she was another FlyAway Airlines check-in girl, and her name tag told Tom her name was Trina.

Trina had a Taser, and she gestured with it at Tom. "Mr. Catt, don't go getting any silly ideas, will you?"

Tom shook his head that he wouldn't.

"As you see from my name tag, my name is Trina - short for Katrina. I understand you have already made acquaintance with my FlyAway colleague Larissa, who has filled you in on your situation. Now it's time for your first brief rest break. I'll remind you that, after that, your short rest breaks will be at ten-hour intervals. Step down from your platform - but don't make any sudden moves. Believe me, Mr. Catt, I know how to use this thing. I have used it many times before, on panicky new captives, unable to accept the reality of their seventy-two-hour situations. But no problem - I find it quite fun. And so I would be only too happy to use it on you. But then I would have to summon help to return you to your little prison - and I don't the have time for that."

Tom stepped down from his semi-circular platform. His leg muscles were already stiffening after just his first two hours of standing upright - and he still had seven ten-hour stints to come. Tom was at the midway point of the dimly lit basement corridor. Tom needed the loo - which way was it?

Trina pointed her Taser to the far end of the corridor. "The loo is that way, Mr. Catt," Trina said. "And remember - your next rest break is in ten hours."

Tom proceeded as directed by Trina and did what he had to do.

Back in the basement corridor, Trina gestured with her Taser for Tom to step back up onto the semi-circular shape platform to return to his 'little prison'.

Tom shook his head at Trina.

Tom feared the shocking and crippling effects of the Taser, and he believed that Trina would use it on him - and enjoy using it. But he shook his head at Trina.

Tom did not want to step up the four or five inches back onto the semi-circular back-boarded platform. Tom could not bear the thought of the first of seven ten-hour closely confined stints of enforced foot servitude. Tom could not face the idea of the all but ceaseless stream of just-arrived air hostesses - short-haul and long-haul - choosing to make their way from all five Heathrow terminals via the hub of interconnected walkways and automated pedestrian transitways to their female-dedicated air services passageway to 'massage their feet'.

"Mmmmm... mmmmm!" mumbled Tom from his superglue-sealed lips in his muted effort to convey his wretched thoughts to Trina.

Trina pointed her Taser at Tom. "Ah - any other time! Mr. Catt - do you think you are the first fool to try and appeal to my better nature? You are not - so don't waste my time! Accept your seventy-two-hour situation! Make the best of it!"

Tom shook his head at Trina.

"Mr. Catt - last chance! Get back on there - and now! Don't you get it yet? Mr. Catt, you are going nowhere - for the next seventy hours! Now get back on there - or else! I'm on my twenty-minute tea break. I have five minutes left, and guess what I want to do with them? Yes - Mr. Catt. I want to visit you - to massage my feet! While you still have a quiet minute. That is the only reason I have not used the Taser on you. So get back on there - and now! Or I will give you the Taser - and then the footlights!"

Tom did not want Trina to taser him - nor did he want the footlights.

Tom resigned himself to his seventy-two-hour foot-serving fate and stepped up the four or five inches onto the back-boarded semi-circular platform of his 'little prison'. Tom had made a futile gesture of denial - and he knew it. Tom Catt knew, also that it would be his final act of resistance.

"Sensible choice, Mr. Catt," said the FlyAway Airlines check-in girl, Trina.

Trina stepped up to Tom and regarded him interestedly. "Hmmm... Mr. Catt. Larissa is right. You are a good catch - as it were! You are good-looking, and you present nicely. Nice pinstripe suit. And a nice logoed tie: Premier Plastics. I've heard of them. Is that your company, Mr. Catt?"

Tom nodded at the attractive brunette Trina.

But then tears started to form in Tom's eyes.

Premier Plastics was Tom's company - but not for long. Tears then cascaded down Tom Catt's face at the thought of what he was losing. And for what? To be imprisoned for seventy-two hours in a female-dedicated air services passageway as a near-floor-level hole-in-the-wall foot slave for just-landed air hostesses, all of them purposely choosing to use the hub of integrated walkways and Travelators from all five Heathrow terminals to 'massage their feet' on his or his co-captive's face.

Trina - short for Katrina - squealed delightedly. "Mr. Catt - you are crying! Ha ha ha ha - you are crying! Excellent - ha ha ha ha! Excellent! It is sinking in, isn't it, Mr. Catt - the cost of your nosiness!"