In another group (also run by Seeker :icon_wink), one of the posters had a fantasy of becoming the fetish object itself. I decided to take this concept and apply it to my Keds fetish. The following is the result. I don't know if I can continue it.
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I don’t know when the consciousness came over me. I vaguely remember the stamping and the sewing and the casting and the gluing. Then I was swathed and then there was darkness. Long darkness during which time I slept without dreams.
I awoke with a jostling and the removal of my coffin lid. I was lifted out of the box and tissue fell from around me. The bright light after so much darkness blinded me. A hard core of paper was removed from within me, my quarters were flayed out and my tongue pulled up.
I heard girlish giggling coming from the heavenly spaces above me; the voices of angels no doubt. And now one of these creatures was putting her hand inside me to retrieve my laces.
Soon I was on her lap with the fingers nimbly working the laces through my lower eyelets. I have no voice, but I screamed to her nonetheless: please do not hide my laces. Loop them so they go on the outside. Somehow, she must have heard me.
I was coming more complete as she progressed with the lacing task and then the moment of my fulfillment came as she slid her feet into me; first one, and then the other. It was as if I were being given a soul. She was bringing life to me. I wrapped myself lovingly around these pedestals of her femininity as she tied a knot and bow.
She stood in me and I could feel her weight on my frame. And then she walked. I could see carpet and racks of shoes glide by in a blur with her step. Ahead was a mirror sitting on the floor. She stopped before it.
For the first time I could see what I looked like in all my glistening white glory. But I did not stand still long as she twisted and turned first on one toe and then the other. I could see the triple ribbing on my foxing, the crepe rubber sole, and the blue label on my heel.
She spent minutes looking at me from all angles. She called to her friends, “What do you think?”
“They’re really cute. They look good,” came the responses. “How do they feel?”
“They feel great.”
So I was cute and I felt great. What more can a sneaker ask for?
“I’ll take them,” she said.
I was adopted. I had a home. I had a purpose. I had a mistress to serve.
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I don’t know when the consciousness came over me. I vaguely remember the stamping and the sewing and the casting and the gluing. Then I was swathed and then there was darkness. Long darkness during which time I slept without dreams.
I awoke with a jostling and the removal of my coffin lid. I was lifted out of the box and tissue fell from around me. The bright light after so much darkness blinded me. A hard core of paper was removed from within me, my quarters were flayed out and my tongue pulled up.
I heard girlish giggling coming from the heavenly spaces above me; the voices of angels no doubt. And now one of these creatures was putting her hand inside me to retrieve my laces.
Soon I was on her lap with the fingers nimbly working the laces through my lower eyelets. I have no voice, but I screamed to her nonetheless: please do not hide my laces. Loop them so they go on the outside. Somehow, she must have heard me.
I was coming more complete as she progressed with the lacing task and then the moment of my fulfillment came as she slid her feet into me; first one, and then the other. It was as if I were being given a soul. She was bringing life to me. I wrapped myself lovingly around these pedestals of her femininity as she tied a knot and bow.
She stood in me and I could feel her weight on my frame. And then she walked. I could see carpet and racks of shoes glide by in a blur with her step. Ahead was a mirror sitting on the floor. She stopped before it.
For the first time I could see what I looked like in all my glistening white glory. But I did not stand still long as she twisted and turned first on one toe and then the other. I could see the triple ribbing on my foxing, the crepe rubber sole, and the blue label on my heel.
She spent minutes looking at me from all angles. She called to her friends, “What do you think?”
“They’re really cute. They look good,” came the responses. “How do they feel?”
“They feel great.”
So I was cute and I felt great. What more can a sneaker ask for?
“I’ll take them,” she said.
I was adopted. I had a home. I had a purpose. I had a mistress to serve.