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Ash was not sure how long she had been chained up in the little holding cell at the threshold to one of the Sol System’s many Contract-Prison Facilities. It seemed like days, for there was no passage of time here save for the changing shifts of guards - no dimming of lights, and even had there been any windows, only the stars like dust, and perhaps the rusty copper surface of Mars would be there to greet the eye. Realistically, it had not been days, but hours. Yet it was hard to imagine as much, sitting there on the hard metal floor of her tiny prison, arms hoisted up behind her head and secured to the wall by absurdly bulky manacles that looked straight out of some medieval retrofuturistic dungeon. Those thick, heavy cuffs locking her ankles together were hardly better, seeming to weigh on her very soul as much as her feet. A tall, long-limbed and slender girl of twenty-four, Ash did not particularly appreciate being confined in small spaces for long periods of time. Though she could stretch her legs out and the soles of her sneakers could press up against the thick bars that caged her in like the trapped animal she was, nevertheless her muscles ached, her bones itched.

Ash was a runner. A skateboarder. A Courier. In the business of quickly and discreetly ferrying parcels of dubious legality between clients, she was among the best. And while she could be as lazy and languid as anyone else when off the job, nevertheless the girl found it difficult to sit still for long periods of time when something as serious as her career - not to mention her life - was on the line.

It would have been easy to fall victim to the fear roiling in her chest. The constant, nagging terror that this could very well be the end of everything she’d worked for since her youth. It buzzed in her head, in her blood, gnawing away in the background of her consciousness. The anxiety was a disease, corrupting and consuming, waiting at the edge with hungry maw and piercing teeth to tear into her and swallow her whole. The thousand ‘what-ifs’ darting about in perpetual circles, concentric strings of worst-case scenarios and tangential nightmares. She had not known what was in the package she’d been hired to move discretely from a shady establishment on Ganymede to the Capitol City of Ares on Mars. It could have been anything. If it could fit in her custom-made, extra-high-security, everything-proof messenger bag, she could move it. And while certain colleagues of hers tended to vet potential clients that they might lower the risk of her taking custody of something potentially life-ruining, it was an imperfect process.

What if there had been something in that bag capable of putting her away forever? What if she had been moving Ambrosol? It didn’t matter that it was extremely unlikely - the very possibility was enough to send shudders of nauseating terror down her spine. And worse still, what if Mal didn’t show up? Everything depended on Mal now. Ash hated to be so reliant on another, yet here she was, at the mercy of a woman who she could only hope had gotten her message…

But Ash was also aware that succumbing to these terrors vibrating cruelly in her gut would be pointless. She was strong. She was clever. She was insufferable. And at least one of those traits could be used to keep her sane.

That was why she hadn’t stopped taunting and goading the unfortunate guard outside her cell for several hours.

“Oi! Ain’t you gettin’ a mite bored there love?” Ash’s husky tenor had a naturally rasping sound, throaty, with a lilting accent unique to Earthen Britannia. “Don’t tell me you ain’t inna’ gals, I can see it all over ye’bloody face! Ye’got me all locked up in’ere y’know? Right ‘elpless damsel in distress, me!” Smirking, Ash wiggled enticingly in her restraints. The heavy chain weighing down her ankles hissed along the floor, as those behind her head clinked against the wall with her pointed squirming.

The guard was a short, handsome woman characterized by olive skin, a face almost as freckled as Ash’s own speckled ebony complexion, and a short crew-cut crop of neatly feathered black hair. With the sleeves of her blue uniform shirt rolled up, Ash could appreciate the strong, toned arms and imagine beneath the otherwise unassuming uniform a woman with the kind of body that could manhandle a slender figure such as herself with ease. Which was kind of a turn on, if she were being honest with herself. Ash was lithe and fit, the athletic body of a runner built for speed and endurance - but it wouldn’t take much to keep her pinned down.

Certainly they didn’t need all these ridiculous chains. But then, Ash was more than accustomed to the philosophy of the State’s Contract-Prisons, which centered heavily on the notion that metal was cheaper than muscle.

“Lookit’ me in ‘ere, you could take all kinds’a advantage of me and I wouldn’t be able’a do a damn thing~!” She crooned, tapping a sneakered foot on the bars of her little cell. It wasn’t all bluster, either. The guard was a babe. If she wanted to get frisky, at least that would pass the time. And Mal was always so cute when she got jealous, open relationship or not.

But Ash suspected that the way the guard’s face had been suggesting more and more with each passing second a mounting desire to commit sudden, explosively violent seppuku in order to retain her own sanity and dwindling desire to keep breathing the same air as the insufferable captive implied she was more likely to get her ass kicked than grabbed.

Nevertheless, it was something to do. And if she was going to be trapped here with her indignation barely keeping the anxiety at bay, the least she could do for herself was make the guard as miserable as possible.

What really astounded Ash was that somehow, over these several hours of constant badgering, the guard had barely budged. To some extent she understood the brawny woman’s hesitation - Ash, after all, was not in any ordinary holding cell. She had not been sealed away - there wasn’t even an extra, solid security door to cover over the simple bars that presently constituted her tiny cell door. She had not even been read aloud the standard ‘Revocation of Rights’ litany when, sweat-slick and gasping for breath, the authorities had finally taken her into custody. Unlike approximately ninety-eight percent of Sol System’s citizens, Ash actually still had some rights afforded her by virtue of her legal insurance - a highly skilled, highly professional, and highly paid legal representative on-call at all times.

The delinquent skater-girl aesthetic and flippant attitude belied Ash’s highly professional bearing. Twenty-four years of age, yet she was among the best couriers of dubious legality that money could buy, within her general league. She was well enough acquainted with the State’s fundamentally rigged justice system, and knew that the same no-questions-asked policy that made her so appealing to high-end clients would eventually land her in hot water when something went pear-shaped. As such, Ash spared no expenses in employing the very best legal representative in her paygrade - insurance against the inevitability of the State’s predatory claws eventually catching up with her.

As no citizen of Sol was entitled to an attorney if they did not have one already on file, legal representatives operated in a highly niche - and highly profitable - economy. Lawyers were expensive, in short supply and high demand, requiring regular payments for their services to be rendered. Exorbitant premiums among a small, elite market meant that very few of the Sol System’s perpetually overcrowded citizens had any legal representation whatsoever. Those who did, however, were all but immune to the State’s fraudulent practices.

This was far from the first time Ash had found herself in chains, locked down in the State’s titanium grasp. She had long since learned what to expect of the systematically corrupt staff and officials who handled her during the process of awaiting the presence of her attorney and the subsequent trial. Usually they pushed the limits, took liberties, used the simple fact that she was in chains and they were not to rough her up a bit, cop a feel, taunt and belittle her. But this time, against all odds, she seemed to have come up against the single most professional employee of State justice in the entire System. Sure, she was pretty sure the lady had copped a feel or two as she was escorted to the cell, skate shoes scuffing on the metal floor, chains hissing in tune, and sweaty arms jerking instinctually at the iron grip around her elbow - but that was it. Never before had her captors actually honored the stipulation that detainees with legal insurance still had a degree of free speech permitted them, and were not to be gagged. They always gagged her. Maybe not at first, but a few biting comments and she was bound to find something being shoved into her mouth to shut her up. Ash usually considered it a victory - making the high-and-mighty State officials break their own - however flimsy - protocol.

Yet this lady had just sat there the whole time.

Calm, impeccably professional, this guard or officer or whatever she was had barely acknowledged Ash and her constant goading since she was first shoved into her custody from the transport, upon arriving on the Facility transfer port. The only effect Ash had managed on her was that gradual darkening of mood - the mounting irritation beneath a stony mask, held back by some misguided sense of professional integrity. She just sat there at her desk at the head of the small, isolated hall of holding cells, visibly struggling to ignore the unending barrage of verbal needling by focusing with increasingly renewed singularity on the monitor before her. Probably some dull, official business - though Ash liked to imagine she was doing something she wasn’t supposed to, like playing some game or reading super-niche kinky literature on the net. She watched as the woman absently leaned over, hand brushing up under the hem of her black uniform dress pants to scratch a persistent itch just below the cuff of her spotless, faux-leather combat boot.

Seeing that, Ash realized that her own feet were starting to feel uncomfortably stuffy. The ‘Resist’ brand skate and running shoes weren’t the most breathable pair she owned. Comfortable enough to have been worn to the point of a dark imprint permanently embedded on the inside sole, but wearing them for long periods of time tended to make her feet sweat. The way she tied them - a double-knot concealed under the tongue - was perfect for keeping the shoes on when she needed them the most, and keeping the knot safe from coming undone. Losing a shoe or tripping on an untied lace while sprinting or boarding at high speeds, pursued by law enforcement or less savory types - tended to be bad for one’s health. The downside was that they were difficult to remove without hands. Usually this wasn’t a problem. Presently, Ash found it to be irritating her with greater preoccupation as the uncounted minutes ticked by. She did spend some time trying fruitlessly to pry them off herself - toeing the heel of one with the other as the heavy chains locked around her ankles hissed and clattered on the floor - but to no avail.

Ash hadn’t expected to accomplish much - but now that she was actively trying and failing, she found it more frustrating than she could have known. Maybe the boredom of hours or days chained in this little box was getting to her - but more than anything it was the impotence of such a small, mundane thing that got on her nerves. The inability to take off her own shoes became increasingly frustrating as she went on making no progress despite the relative simplicity of her self-appointed task. Squirming and struggling with mounting fervor, she began to work up a sweat once again - before long, she could feel the hot moisture inside sneakers that felt increasingly stuffy with each passing minute. Damp socks seemed to smother her sweaty toes, clinging relentlessly to her captive feet inside dual prisons of her own making. They were her shoes. She should have been able to take them off. She’d put them on. Slipping out of them shouldn’t have been a luxury, something that could be denied to her. It was a simple thing to untie and remove one’s own sneakers - all she had to do was reach down and untie them. Except that only resulted in her wrists tugging against heavy cuffs and a chain that allowed her to move not a millimeter farther than its length permitted. That, too, came into focus. The muscle-memory of untying shoelaces made it a thoughtless thing - when a force stopped those muscles with relentless finality, the muscles itched to complete their task. Having thoughtlessly tugged on the chains, Ash was suddenly aware of her bondage all over again, as if it were new.

Against her will, the thought wriggled into her mind that maybe this was just how her life would be. Maybe these chains weren’t a temporary discomfort, but a new way of life she was going to be forced to endure for the rest of her days. She wanted her shoes and socks off now, but there was a very real chance that once they were gone, she would never see them again. Barefoot, in chains, for the rest of her life. And some little part of her already wondered if, by struggling to get them off now, she was somehow bringing upon herself that very fate. Asking for it. Five, ten, fifty years from now she would be as youthful and vigorous as on this very day - still squirming and sweating in her bondage, suffering tortures and indignities on the rare occasions that guards or other prisoners daned to acknowledge her existence at all - would she look back on this very moment and hate herself all the more for her willingness to give up that which might otherwise not have been taken? This was all her fault…

Furious at herself for having let the dread seep back in unbidden, Ash rallied with renewed fervor toward the new, all-important goal of getting her stuffy shoes off - and ideally making that officer babe’s life a little more difficult in the process. It had been a while since she’d piped up. The last thing she wanted was to make her internment easy on the pretty lady keeping her here.

“Oi! Oi Officer Freckles!” Ash called suddenly, lifting one foot up, heavy chain dangling, rattling as she noisly rapped the sole of her shoe on the vertical bars. To Ash’s immense amusement, the woman actually looked up - and immediately seemed to regret the reflex given the way she returned focus to her terminal with renewed intensity. The new scowl on her face said it all. Her name, Ash decided, would now and forever more be ‘Officer Freckles’. This was a victory of immense proportions. “Ain’t you forgettin’ somethin~?” Again, Ash’s words seemed to have some effect - she saw something pass over Officer Freckles’ face - hard to tell at that distance, but she might have rolled her eyes - or maybe looked upward in a silent prayer to whatever kinky gods she supposed State Prison employees must worship. Maybe there were different deities for different kinks? That was an interesting idea. How exactly did one venerate the goddess of barefoot bondage? Would sacrifices be involved?

But Ash was on a mission now, and it had nothing to do with fetish-theology. Her long legs forced knees to bend as she put the smooth-worn soles of both sneakers against the bars, tapping rhythmically. “If I’m a prisoner, ain’t I supposed t’be barefoot? I ain’t deserve no shoes yeah? That’s ‘ow it works, innit? You’re lackin’ ‘ere, Freckles~!”

It was almost disappointing to be the only prisoner in the ward. Watching the guard try harder and harder to ignore her would have made an excellent show for other inmates. But legal insurance like Ash’s was a rare thing in the modern world. Operating a legal firm in the political environment perpetuated by The State was a harrowing, arduous task requiring the kind of gumption and dedication that few could spare, even taking into account the potentially profitable nature of that risky business.

“Y’can’t just lock a gal up in chains an’ leave’er shoes on mate! ‘At’s right irresponsible it is! Wot’ll the boss think if’e comes in ay? I got me some damn fine feet y’know, an it’d be a real shame f’I wasn’t forced t’show ‘em off all ~against’ my will~!” She sounded almost as if she were legitimately complaining - a boisterous patron who was paying too much to be kicked out - only the antagonistic lilt of her musical tone gave away the ploy. Her captive audience was already rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms, pinching the bridge of her nose. This, she realized later, likely had something to do with the shadow that appeared outside her tiny window of sight beyond the cell. The sound of boots on metal, then there was another guard - dressed in a more utilitarian, fatigue-style uniform - approaching the impeccably frustrated officer with a small black nylon bag slung over one shoulder. Ash couldn’t tell if she was relieved to see him, irritated with him, or both.

“Oi you there!” She called out as he passed, causing the young, clean-shaven man to falter and glance her way. Ash put on her most indignant pout, arching her back so that her breasts pressed up against the snug, comically nationalistic tee shirt and lifting one fettered leg to paw needfully at the bars with the toe of one sneakered foot. “Lookit this!” The heavy chain stretched taut as one foot rested with heel on the floor, the other tap-tap-tapping on the steel that kept her caged like a slave. “Don’t y’think I’d look better all chained up wit’ my bare soles pressed up against the bars~? Maybe lock that chain through ‘em so I got no choice!” Ash wiggled her toes back and forth in rhythm for emphasis, inwardly chafing at the smothering dampness of their confinement. To cover it up, the cheeky grin broadened and her eyes widened with a tantalizing glint of innocence. “I’m real ticklish, y’know~”

To her immense disappointment, the guard only blinked at her before proceeding with complete and total indifference. Ash huffed loudly, sneakered feet dropping heavily to the floor where the chain slapped with the staccato clank of metallic weight. Struggling with her insufferably persistent sneakers with redoubled vigor, she was barely aware of the guard and Officer Freckles speaking in hushed, impatient tones. Just her luck, in an industry so rampant with indulgent corruption that it was actively encouraged and had seeped into the societal norm, to find the two State employees somehow immune to the temptations of power. Ash simply could not believe that anyone could specialize in this line of work and not take at least some pleasurable liberties. There were easier, better paying jobs out there. Even someone diluted enough to want to uphold the State’s absurdist interpretation of ‘law’ would have had dozens of better options than this.

It was generally known that most facility employees had some degree of appreciation or fetishization of bondage, just as it was known that the privilege of being allowed to take advantage of attractive young convicts was a blatant selling point by recruiters. It was a major part of the reason why such a high percentage of all those imprisoned in contract facilities were young and attractive, with some seventy percent being female - while the more ‘unsavory’ criminals tended to get put into more traditional prisons or hard labor camps among the asteroids and outer planets to be tormented and abused in different ways by a different breed of authority.

Generally, the further speculation of them all having pronounced foot fetishes was considered half in jest - shoes, socks and undergarments were not included in the uniform of any prisoner within the contract-prison system, universally deemed an unnecessary expense. Over the decades since the State’s nearly-forgotten takeover of Sol, the authoritarian prison culture had permeated society in subtle ways, infusing the population as a whole with ideals and interests that only years before would have been considered niche, even taboo fetishes. Most people could appreciate - sexually or otherwise - a young, attractive, barefoot woman squirming in heavy chains. As many people could appreciate the shapely curves and arches of a pair of perfectly proportioned feet and toes as the hourglass figure of a woman, the trim physique of a handsome man, or the slender androgynous form of someone in between. A pretty convict girl struggling in her chains was no different than an attractive model on a billboard, the idea of using and abusing her no less desirable than good sex with a consenting partner.

Yet there they were, ignoring her like she didn’t exist.

What if that was going to be her punishment?

The idea struck Ash like a high-speed train. That was something she didn’t know if she would be able to handle. What if her whole sentence would be the torture of being completely ignored? Of moaning desperately into her gag, squirming helpless in her bondage, begging passers-by for even the slightest glance or acknowledgement of her existence? The idea was horrifying.

Screwing her eyes shut, Ash shook her head fervently, dispelling the thought with all the force and tact of a metaphysical sledgehammer. Her quest for the agency to remove her shoes became even more vital. The multicolored laces refused to budge under the clumsy pawing of the worn-slick sole of her other shoe. The toe slipped over snugly-fitted ankles as she levered at the heel, feeling freedom so close, yet so far away. The struggle was just beginning to consume her when the shadow falling over her person brought her back to reality. Pausing abruptly in her efforts, Ash blinked innocently up at the figure of Officer Freckles, already in the process of unlocking her narrow cell door. Caught off guard, the petulant defiance which had defined her presence to this point was conspicuously absent. The prisoner only watched owlishly as the officer stepped through into her cell, then obediently, even meekly lifted both feet into the air before her. She found herself glancing submissively off to the side, still panting faintly from her efforts as she visibly accepted the confiscation of her sneakers as punishment.

Ash was thoroughly taken aback when she felt the sudden tug on her ankle chain, no longer swinging in an even arc, but bowed in the center where Officer Freckles’ small, strong hand gripped it in an iron fist. Again, the prisoner blinked at her captor, who now hunkered on one knee before her, hazel eyes focused with laser intensity and a depth of purpose that sent a nervous thrill down Ash’s spine.

It was enough to reignite the fire.

This was the part Ash was most familiar with. Even though her partner wasn’t exactly a willing participant in the game, the rules were the same and she knew how to play it from here. Full lips smirked back at the officer’s stony mask of quiet irritation, causing a glimmer of impatience that the imprisoned girl found delightfully unnerving. Now that she had the handsome woman right where she wanted her, Ash decided a little resistance was in order. Squirming softly, she tugged at the chain, which the officer held fast, vice-like in her grip. She leveled a smoldering leer of defiance at her from beneath the burgundy hair, tossing her head to clear it from her face. The bratty little sneer emphasized the fullness of her lips, the sharp, steely grey of her eyes, hooded with mischievous purpose of her own. Pulling one foot back made her hips twist, the hem of her shirt riding up, the waistband of her baggy jeans tugged down to reveal a tantalizing strip of freckled ebony skin.

“You do like feet, don’ya Freckles? Got you a lil’ fetish yeah?” she needled, her voice a knowing, husky purr. Almost cheerful she went on. “Ey, don’t get me wrong I’m right there wit’ya. F’you wanna’ take them boots off an’ step on me a bit be my guest babe~ I got a very talented tongue~” emphasizing this, the ebon-skinned prisoner opened her mouth and licked the air, just once, smoldering eyes locked on the guard’s own increasingly intense - and decidedly uncomfortable - stare. This resulted in briefly getting a stray lock of sweat-heavy burgundy hair in her mouth, which she spit back out as subtly as possible, not breaking eye contact.

Her rapidly multiplying flippancy helped to keep the looming cloud of anxiety at bay. Ash actually did get off on this sort of thing. Being stripped, chained up, and forced to give her brawny captor’s sweaty feet an extensive tongue-bath honestly didn’t sound so bad. It was the sort of peril she would eagerly have brought upon herself with biting remarks and a plucky, defiant attitude in one of the many bondage lounges she regularly patronized on her time off. The fact that her present predicament being no mere roleplay lent an irresponsible air of excitement to the notion. There were no safewords here. They would not unlock her chains and release her from this cell no matter what she did or said. Her human rights were severely limited in a legal capacity. Being bound by law was a far more dubious restraint than any mere ropes or chains. She wasn’t just playing with fire - she was playing with the pilot light of a flamethrower aimed at her head - and it was exhilarating. It was so easy to cast aside her fears, forget about the potentially life-changing peril she was actually in, simply to indulge in this one moment of fantastical risk and reward.

Officer Freckles was seething. Ash could tell, even behind the woman’s barely constrained mask of stony indifference. She could see faint tinges of color on the olive-toned cheeks, and had the distinct pleasure of being able to see the other guard watching the woman from behind as she taunted her. The way her dark eyes regarded the sensually squirming prisoner obliquely, without actually landing that heated gaze upon her.

The lady liked what she saw. Ash could have seen that a mile away. She had enticed more than enough dominant women with her bratty attitude and resistant struggles over the years to know when they were into it, even if they weren’t necessarily ready to admit it to themselves. Only twenty four, but even so few years could be packed tight with experiences, and Ash had taken full advantage of her time. The realization filled Ash with that familiar warmth - the hedonistic pride of being desirable that burned in her chest, intoxicating. The stark, unbelieving reality of the situation seemed only to heighten that sensation, almost making her giddy.

Even if the officer thought she was in charge, she wasn’t. Not really. It was the same with most of the dominant partners Ash had played out scenes with. She was in control - she was the thing they wanted, and so she could wrap them around her finger with her biting words and playful, practiced struggles. Whether they knew it or not, they were as much a slave to their own desires as Ash was to them - and the feeling of power, even while constrained and bound, was exhilerating.

“You ain’t gagged me yet. Must be a reason for that yeah? Maybe you got some other plans f’my mouth huh~?” Ash purred, grinning crookedly, antagonistic with the sultry gaze that glowed under stray, tousled hair. The officer winced almost imperceptibly at her mention of the conspicuously missing gag. Her jaw worked as she visibly struggled to maintain her patience and stoicism - both of which were slipping away at an alarming rate.

Ash giggled - a low, throaty chuckle that clearly grated on the other woman’s nerves. “Wot, scared I’ll be too tough for ya?” She goaded, tugging pointedly at the chains so that the limitations of her movement were emphasized. The heavy cuffs rattling over her head would allow wrists to go so far, and no farther - stopping when they reached their chains’ meager limit as suddenly and surely as if she were knocking on a solid wall. When the officer didn’t take the bait, Ash scoffed and rolled her eyes, shoulders slackening as she let her weight fall petulantly back against where the wall met the floor. Back arching, head turned to the side so that eyes peered sidelong up at the woman with unsubtle deviance, she waggled her shod feet where they hung suspended by the officer’s firm grasp. “Well if y’ain’t gonna’ do that at least take my feckin’ kicks off yeah? I in’t s’pposed t’be wearin’em anyhow. Ain’t no shoes inn’a uniform.” The grin, toothy and mischievous, returned with a vengeance. “Won’t be ‘ere long anyhow, might as well git the full experience while I can yeah?” If she asserted it aloud, maybe it would be true.
Whether in silent argument, agreement, or total indifference Ash could not tell - Officer Freckles, without any fuss, wordlessly proceeded with playing right into Ash’s hand. Or, more poetically, her feet.

Freckles made it look so easy. Where Ash had flailed and squirmed and sweated for who knew how long, the dour officer deftly yanked back the sneaker’s plush tongue, wedged a finger between the cuff and the gentle indentation of her ankle, and tugged. The sneaker came off as though it had never offered any resistance, only catching on the slick socked heel for a moment before sliding away smooth and easy. Under the baggy jeans that flared beneath heavy shackles, the dark ball of her ankle stood out in contrast where it met the hem of the low-cut white sock. Its worn fabric clung to the shape of her foot, toes standing out as faint depressions beneath its snugly fitted surface. The cotton was hot and damp with day-old sweat, a musky scent following the confiscated sneaker and lingering in the tiny field of warm air. Not overpowering, but still as strong as one might expect of a woman who made her living on her feet. Ash didn’t care, and the guard didn’t appear to notice at all. She merely discarded the sneaker at her back, letting it tumble ineffectually to the floor, as her second hand was occupied with holding aloft the heavy chain, forcing the seated girl’s feet into the air for easy access.

With the second shoe tugged off and discarded, Ash’s two socked feet hung aloft, suspended by the chain held in one strong fist. She splayed out long, slender toes that strained the sodden fabric, forming a symmetrical bloom of peaks and depressions. The pinkish hue of her soles and the pads of her toes could just barely be seen through the wet, white cotton, pressing out on the fabric as if imprisoned in some clinging bondage of their own.

“Right, come on then. Take off my socks. On wit’ it!” Ash urged, hushed and husky, almost needfully, flexing her arches and pulling back splayed toes, butterflying them, further straining the thin cloth where it clung below the ball of her ankles. “You wanna’ see my bare feet in chains so bad - wot’ ye gonna’ do to em’ ay? You gonna torture my ‘elpless captive toes?” She scrunched and un-scrunched the long, mobile toes in question for emphasis, thin fabric wrinkling, going taut, wrinkling again.

The officer, glaring now, hooked a finger under the hem of the sock in the tiny gap between the ball of the ankle and the heel. Deftly, she peeled the garment away - it clung persistently, almost struggling itself, turning inside-out as it rolled over the slender heel, but still sid away as it was tugged up the arch, over the ball, and finally away from the tips of her toes. Long, shapely toes splayed out immediately, drinking in the fresh, cool air. The dark, freckled top contrasted pinkish sole and toe-pads. Minute bits of cotton and the faintest traces of specks of sand - a grain, two - clung to velveteen skin made supple and reddened by their exertion and confinement. The remaining sweat was not a glistening sheen, but a plush, heated softness exuding the musky, but not unnatural scent of clean - if pungent - perspiration. Soft enough to make that smooth satin texture inexplicably visible, Ash’s feet were exquisitely cared for with unpainted, carefully trimmed nails, free of even the slightest calluses despite her highly athletic lifestyle.

Officer Freckles stared, clearly not realizing she was doing it. The look lasted only a second, long enough for splayed toes to curl in a horizontal half-moon shape that emphasized the striated lines and peaks of elegant knuckles - but that was long enough.

Unexpectedly, without the slightest hesitation, Ash yanked the shapely foot back, to the side, nosing the big toe up under the same gap in the opposite sock to forcefully tear it off in a single, smooth kick. It dangled unbidden on her big toe for an instant, then fell into the officer’s lap as, instinctually wrangling the chain to maintain control in the face of sudden movements, and possible resistance, played right into Ash’s little trick. Without warning the ebony-skinned prisoner was fervently pressing both sets of hot, sweat-slick toes directly into the kneeling guard’s face. Splayed toes fanned out over nose and cheeks, balls pressing into lips with little regard for precision or direction. To her delight, she even managed to wedge a couple of her toes into the stunned officer’s mouth, catching the briefest touch of hot damp, soft tongue and grazing teeth for all of the second-and-a-half she’d managed to keep contact.

Officer Freckles reacted automatically, eyes going comically wide, face flushing bright fuschia as lips parted in sheer surprise to admit the invasive toes further into her mouth against her will. Then, with a breathy grunt of outrage, she lurched back, dropping the chain linking her prisoner's ankles.

The smug, downright evil smile on Ash’s thickly freckled face was patently infuriating as she pulled her bare feet in toward her, dextrous toes again splaying and wiggling to show off the trio of subtle, but accentuating toe rings she wore beneath her socks. Deftly, big and second toes pinched the thick chain, setting up for what would doubtless be a masterful show for anyone who could appreciate a perfect set of peds. The show, however, was canceled before it could begin.

Ash’s eyes widened as the officer, face now a barely constrained mask of rage and indignation, came at her. Before she knew what was happening, Officer Freckles was on top of her, straddling her lap awkwardly, pinning the captive’s legs together in the inexorable grip of strong thighs. Allowing herself a toothy snarl now that their faces were close enough to obscure anyone else from seeing, the furious officer grabbed a fistful of Ash’s long hair and yanked her head back, forcefully wrenching the prisoner’s astonished to look up at her in the first stages of protest. Ash was not given the chance to speak or voice her outrage at the unnecessarily rough treatment, nor lament the way the back of her head struck the wall hard enough to leave a bruise. Before anything more than an abortive growl was issued from her throat, Ash felt to her horror the smothering wetness of her own dirty socks being pressed forcefully over her nose and mouth.

Eyes wide nearly to the point of circularity, Ash impulsively sucked in air through her nose and mouth, only to have her senses flooded with the scent of her own musky feet. The officer’s palm pressed down harder and breathing suddenly became a stark impossibility. Eyes like saucers, panic immediately welling up from the depths of the icy claw gripping Ash’s gut, the prisoner immediately started to buck and squirm beneath the relentless grip. She couldn’t move an inch. Chest heaving, her wrists yanked uselessly again and again at the chains locking them over her head. She bucked and writhed, but her legs were pinned together and it accomplished little more than rasping the chain between her ankles on the cold floor behind her oppressor. She shook her head violently back and forth, uselessly flailing in her mounting desperation, finding that no matter how she moved the hand was always there, pressing down, inexorable and unrelenting. The officer’s eyes were hot with indignation, yet cold with seething resentment. Her freckled olive-skinned face was still flushed, but Ash failed to notice as her desperation grew and grew to exponential levels. She was drowning, smothered, buried alive beneath that hateful hazel gaze which showed no signs of mercy or remorse. Ash bucked and writhed, mouth agape, head thrashing wildly as it began to grow light from oxygen deprivation.

Then, unexpectedly, air rushed in through her nose as, with a second harsh yanking of a fistful of hair, the socks were forcibly pressed between her lips, immediately stuffing her mouth with the heavy, bitter wetness of days-unwashed cotton socks. Ash hardly noticed that, too busy inhaling and exhaling with fervor, body struggling to circulate as much oxygen as possible in the least amount of time. Air hissed from her nose, chest heaving as the officer plastered her lips with a palm, keeping her head pinned against the metal wall at her back.

Long seconds passed, and Ash had not fully regained her breath before the rage and indignation boiled up from within her. That was not what she had been expecting. She was outraged. She hadn’t deserved that. Still panting for air, Ash let out a muffled series of curses, rendered into unintelligible sounds by the sopping socks she was only now starting to really notice had been stuffed into her mouth. Furious, Ash once more thrashed her head from side to side, mouth and captive tongue working fervently to eject the foul invader that threatened to make her gag with its bitter, unclean tang and miserably porous consistency. It was not allowed to be ejected, as the officer pinned her there with that strong, olive-skinned hand and hateful glare. Ash was undeterred, meeting that harsh gaze with one of her own, defying the torture with stout resolution. She didn’t see what Officer Freckles was pulling from behind her back until it was too late - and in a series of deft, practiced gestures that even Ash had to admit were pretty impressive, a complex panel gag was wrapped tightly around her head like a cage to keep the filthy socks trapped in her mouth.

Ash could only gape angrily out from behind the oppressive faux-leather straps as the foul, bitter taste of sweat literally folded down onto her tongue, filling her mouth. Shaking her head vigorously as if to throw the harness off, her tongue worked futilely in a lost cause effort to push out the intruding socks. It only multiplied the bitter taste, as if she were trying to appreciate the revolting sensory input with her full palette. The firm straps encircling her head like a snug net kept her from opening her jaw. There was a carefully even expression on the officer’s face that she could see around where the blurry diagonal straps partially obscured her own eyes - a glint of smug satisfaction showing through where otherwise only contempt, irritation, and professional blankness were allowed.

Ash found herself once again bucking at her chains - the hot, sweaty soles of her naked feet instantly picking up traces of dust and grime from the floor as if magnetized. The officer allowed herself to be shrugged off, standing dignified and superior beside the suddenly thrashing prisoner, calmly looking down her nose - though still blushing with something that, despite herself, was not entirely hateful. Even in the midst of her blustering, impetuous fury, Ash could obliquely recognize that the smug, handsome lady still liked what she saw. Not knowing how to feel about that in her present fugue of distress, Ash refused to dwell on it, instead opting to futilely grunt muffled, incoherent curses as the compact woman went about picking up her discarded sneakers.

Pausing, holding the shoes hooked over her first two fingers, Officer Freckles regarded the old, worn sneakers with an unfathomable expression. She could see inside where long use had imprinted the shape of Ash’s long, slender soles and heels into the insole. Worn very nearly to the point of no return, the scent issued from within was pungent and stale. Grimacing at the sharp odor, the officer glanced to the still writhing prisoner briefly and seemed to come to a decision of little consequence. With all the ceremony of depositing unwanted articles in a donation bin, Officer Freckles placed Ash’s dirty old sneakers down beside her, where the still warm air lingering within rose softly to caress the girl’s dark cheek, invading her personal space in subtle, insidious ways.

Then, having never spoken a word, Officer Freckles spun on a booted heel, exited the tiny cell, slammed the barred door - then again slammed a secondary door that Ash hadn’t even realized was hidden in front of the first. A solid plate of thin, but doubtless soundproof tantalite-infused steel came down to block out the world, leaving Ash in silent solitude with only the hissing of chains and the wafting scent of her own feet to keep her company.

Left alone to suffer in silence, Ash slumped against the wall and glared down at her second favorite pair of shoes, sitting there so innocently.

The impotence of it all was maddening. What seemed on some fundamental level to be a simple, elementary task - merely ejecting something vile from her mouth - was made utterly impossible by the presence of a force constricting her head and locking the intruder in. All she could do was shake her head vigorously, furiously, to no effect. The indignity made her grit her teeth, inadvertently biting down on the saturated socks, essentially wringing them out in her mouth and further invading her with the wet, sour tang of her own foot sweat.

It wasn’t disgusting or unhygienic, but the natural musk one would expect of the feet of a woman who made her living in physical exertion was strong and forward. The hot scent demanded attention, distracted, but did not overpower. That was somehow worse - if it had dominated the small space and settled around her completely, she might have been able to grow accustomed to it. Learn to ignore it.

Instead, it lingered there with her, often subsiding until some ambient shift of air once more brought her just one more reminder of her helplessness and captivity, from an unexpected source. She thought she had some idea of exactly why the barefoot prisoners policy was so proliferant now. It wasn’t that there was anything inherently humiliating about being without shoes. Wearing revealing footwear or kicking off one’s shoes in public was generally appreciated in the same ways as a woman’s midriff-exposing cropped top or plunging neckline. There was nothing to be ashamed about. Walking around with bare feet might not always be the best or most hygienic option depending on one’s circumstances, but that didn’t mean being shoeless was anything to be ashamed of.

It was not the exposure, but the circumstance that had the subtly demeaning effect on a prisoner’s mind. Not only would the wellbeing of her soft, sensitive soles be a constant factor on her mind as she picked her way through life, but the universal certainty that she wasn’t doing it by choice would linger with her every careful step of the way. There was nothing wrong with being into bondage either - but finding herself forcibly locked in heavy shackles was more demoralizing than merely confining. With all agency taken from her, there was little need to emphasize that lack. It would be known in small ways - and each facet more patently demeaning than the last.

Heaving a heavy, hissing sigh through her nose, Ash bit down once again on the foul cotton in her mouth, wondering not for the first time how they could feel so sopping wet while her mouth felt dry and parched. In the quietude of her cell, only the faint buzzing of the unnecessary, glaring light overhead persisted as a background to the occasional clinking of cuffs, hissing of chains, and padding of dirty bare feet on the cold metal floor. The gag bit into her head, constricting around her, seeming to trap her in some unspecified, intangible way. The light hummed, bright and relentless, allowing no respite of darkness to lend the possibility of rest even with the solid door closing her off from the world. She rubbed her feet together, feeling the faint tickling of bits of dust and grit roll between her long, curvaceous soles as chains snaked back and forth on the floor in time. They were cold now, though not unbearably so. The hot sweat she had so gleefully smeared over the officer’s face was now dissipated - in the small, enclosed space, it would disperse into the air, where the tireless temporary AmbroLite nanobots that had been forced down her throat in pill-form upon her arrest recycled it through her lungs over and over. She might as well have been drowning in it.

With a surge of resentful indignation, Ash realized that her encounter with the brawny Officer Freckles had in fact stuck with her. Much to her consternation, it occurred to her that the handsome woman had actually gotten her a little bit turned on. And realizing that, Ash’s solitary confinement suddenly became an inward struggle not to succumb to the kinds of thoughts that prisoners had been distracting themselves with since time began. A spark of cold dread welled in her chest, knowing very well what effect Ambrosol had on arousal, even to a small degree. Without her hands, there would be no finishing the job - she was trapped in that earliest stage of excitement, not brought to the forefront of her mind, but lingering, like the scent of her own musky shoes, at the edge of comprehension to drift in and out of her awareness, relentlessly unpredictable.

Growling into the vile gag, Ash squirmed, tried to focus on something, distract herself - and failed miserably. Suspended in a vague, hazy space of sensations too slight to be preoccupying but too prominent to be forgotten, she glared at the unmoving door and hoped against hope that maybe, just maybe, it would open soon.

Chances were that she had at least a few more weeks to go.

If she was lucky.

Description

Ash was not sure how long she had been chained up in the little holding cell at the threshold to one of the Sol System’s many Contract-Prison Facilities. It seemed like days, for there was no passage of time here save for the changing shifts of guards - no dimming of lights, and even had there been any windows, only the stars like dust, and perhaps the rusty copper surface of Mars would be there to greet the eye. Realistically, it had not been days, but hours. Yet it was hard to imagine as much, sitting there on the hard metal floor of her tiny prison, arms hoisted up behind her head and secured to the wall by absurdly bulky manacles that looked straight out of some medieval retrofuturistic dungeon. Those thick, heavy cuffs locking her ankles together were hardly better, seeming to weigh on her very soul as much as her feet. A tall, long-limbed and slender girl of twenty-four, Ash did not particularly appreciate being confined in small spaces for long periods of time. Though she could stretch her legs out and the soles of her sneakers could press up against the thick bars that caged her in like the trapped animal she was, nevertheless her muscles ached, her bones itched.

Ash was a runner. A skateboarder. A Courier. In the business of quickly and discreetly ferrying parcels of dubious legality between clients, she was among the best. And while she could be as lazy and languid as anyone else when off the job, nevertheless the girl found it difficult to sit still for long periods of time when something as serious as her career - not to mention her life - was on the line.

It would have been easy to fall victim to the fear roiling in her chest. The constant, nagging terror that this could very well be the end of everything she’d worked for since her youth. It buzzed in her head, in her blood, gnawing away in the background of her consciousness. The anxiety was a disease, corrupting and consuming, waiting at the edge with hungry maw and piercing teeth to tear into her and swallow her whole. The thousand ‘what-ifs’ darting about in perpetual circles, concentric strings of worst-case scenarios and tangential nightmares. She had not known what was in the package she’d been hired to move discretely from a shady establishment on Ganymede to the Capitol City of Ares on Mars. It could have been anything. If it could fit in her custom-made, extra-high-security, everything-proof messenger bag, she could move it. And while certain colleagues of hers tended to vet potential clients that they might lower the risk of her taking custody of something potentially life-ruining, it was an imperfect process.

What if there had been something in that bag capable of putting her away forever? What if she had been moving Ambrosol? It didn’t matter that it was extremely unlikely - the very possibility was enough to send shudders of nauseating terror down her spine. And worse still, what if Mal didn’t show up? Everything depended on Mal now. Ash hated to be so reliant on another, yet here she was, at the mercy of a woman who she could only hope had gotten her message…

But Ash was also aware that succumbing to these terrors vibrating cruelly in her gut would be pointless. She was strong. She was clever. She was insufferable. And at least one of those traits could be used to keep her sane.

That was why she hadn’t stopped taunting and goading the unfortunate guard outside her cell for several hours.

“Oi! Ain’t you gettin’ a mite bored there love?” Ash’s husky tenor had a naturally rasping sound, throaty, with a lilting accent unique to Earthen Britannia. “Don’t tell me you ain’t inna’ gals, I can see it all over ye’bloody face! Ye’got me all locked up in’ere y’know? Right ‘elpless damsel in distress, me!” Smirking, Ash wiggled enticingly in her restraints. The heavy chain weighing down her ankles hissed along the floor, as those behind her head clinked against the wall with her pointed squirming.

The guard was a short, handsome woman characterized by olive skin, a face almost as freckled as Ash’s own speckled ebony complexion, and a short crew-cut crop of neatly feathered black hair. With the sleeves of her blue uniform shirt rolled up, Ash could appreciate the strong, toned arms and imagine beneath the otherwise unassuming uniform a woman with the kind of body that could manhandle a slender figure such as herself with ease. Which was kind of a turn on, if she were being honest with herself. Ash was lithe and fit, the athletic body of a runner built for speed and endurance - but it wouldn’t take much to keep her pinned down.

Certainly they didn’t need all these ridiculous chains. But then, Ash was more than accustomed to the philosophy of the State’s Contract-Prisons, which centered heavily on the notion that metal was cheaper than muscle.

“Lookit’ me in ‘ere, you could take all kinds’a advantage of me and I wouldn’t be able’a do a damn thing~!” She crooned, tapping a sneakered foot on the bars of her little cell. It wasn’t all bluster, either. The guard was a babe. If she wanted to get frisky, at least that would pass the time. And Mal was always so cute when she got jealous, open relationship or not.

But Ash suspected that the way the guard’s face had been suggesting more and more with each passing second a mounting desire to commit sudden, explosively violent seppuku in order to retain her own sanity and dwindling desire to keep breathing the same air as the insufferable captive implied she was more likely to get her ass kicked than grabbed.

Nevertheless, it was something to do. And if she was going to be trapped here with her indignation barely keeping the anxiety at bay, the least she could do for herself was make the guard as miserable as possible.

What really astounded Ash was that somehow, over these several hours of constant badgering, the guard had barely budged. To some extent she understood the brawny woman’s hesitation - Ash, after all, was not in any ordinary holding cell. She had not been sealed away - there wasn’t even an extra, solid security door to cover over the simple bars that presently constituted her tiny cell door. She had not even been read aloud the standard ‘Revocation of Rights’ litany when, sweat-slick and gasping for breath, the authorities had finally taken her into custody. Unlike approximately ninety-eight percent of Sol System’s citizens, Ash actually still had some rights afforded her by virtue of her legal insurance - a highly skilled, highly professional, and highly paid legal representative on-call at all times.

The delinquent skater-girl aesthetic and flippant attitude belied Ash’s highly professional bearing. Twenty-four years of age, yet she was among the best couriers of dubious legality that money could buy, within her general league. She was well enough acquainted with the State’s fundamentally rigged justice system, and knew that the same no-questions-asked policy that made her so appealing to high-end clients would eventually land her in hot water when something went pear-shaped. As such, Ash spared no expenses in employing the very best legal representative in her paygrade - insurance against the inevitability of the State’s predatory claws eventually catching up with her.

As no citizen of Sol was entitled to an attorney if they did not have one already on file, legal representatives operated in a highly niche - and highly profitable - economy. Lawyers were expensive, in short supply and high demand, requiring regular payments for their services to be rendered. Exorbitant premiums among a small, elite market meant that very few of the Sol System’s perpetually overcrowded citizens had any legal representation whatsoever. Those who did, however, were all but immune to the State’s fraudulent practices.

This was far from the first time Ash had found herself in chains, locked down in the State’s titanium grasp. She had long since learned what to expect of the systematically corrupt staff and officials who handled her during the process of awaiting the presence of her attorney and the subsequent trial. Usually they pushed the limits, took liberties, used the simple fact that she was in chains and they were not to rough her up a bit, cop a feel, taunt and belittle her. But this time, against all odds, she seemed to have come up against the single most professional employee of State justice in the entire System. Sure, she was pretty sure the lady had copped a feel or two as she was escorted to the cell, skate shoes scuffing on the metal floor, chains hissing in tune, and sweaty arms jerking instinctually at the iron grip around her elbow - but that was it. Never before had her captors actually honored the stipulation that detainees with legal insurance still had a degree of free speech permitted them, and were not to be gagged. They always gagged her. Maybe not at first, but a few biting comments and she was bound to find something being shoved into her mouth to shut her up. Ash usually considered it a victory - making the high-and-mighty State officials break their own - however flimsy - protocol.

Yet this lady had just sat there the whole time.

Calm, impeccably professional, this guard or officer or whatever she was had barely acknowledged Ash and her constant goading since she was first shoved into her custody from the transport, upon arriving on the Facility transfer port. The only effect Ash had managed on her was that gradual darkening of mood - the mounting irritation beneath a stony mask, held back by some misguided sense of professional integrity. She just sat there at her desk at the head of the small, isolated hall of holding cells, visibly struggling to ignore the unending barrage of verbal needling by focusing with increasingly renewed singularity on the monitor before her. Probably some dull, official business - though Ash liked to imagine she was doing something she wasn’t supposed to, like playing some game or reading super-niche kinky literature on the net. She watched as the woman absently leaned over, hand brushing up under the hem of her black uniform dress pants to scratch a persistent itch just below the cuff of her spotless, faux-leather combat boot.

Seeing that, Ash realized that her own feet were starting to feel uncomfortably stuffy. The ‘Resist’ brand skate and running shoes weren’t the most breathable pair she owned. Comfortable enough to have been worn to the point of a dark imprint permanently embedded on the inside sole, but wearing them for long periods of time tended to make her feet sweat. The way she tied them - a double-knot concealed under the tongue - was perfect for keeping the shoes on when she needed them the most, and keeping the knot safe from coming undone. Losing a shoe or tripping on an untied lace while sprinting or boarding at high speeds, pursued by law enforcement or less savory types - tended to be bad for one’s health. The downside was that they were difficult to remove without hands. Usually this wasn’t a problem. Presently, Ash found it to be irritating her with greater preoccupation as the uncounted minutes ticked by. She did spend some time trying fruitlessly to pry them off herself - toeing the heel of one with the other as the heavy chains locked around her ankles hissed and clattered on the floor - but to no avail.

Ash hadn’t expected to accomplish much - but now that she was actively trying and failing, she found it more frustrating than she could have known. Maybe the boredom of hours or days chained in this little box was getting to her - but more than anything it was the impotence of such a small, mundane thing that got on her nerves. The inability to take off her own shoes became increasingly frustrating as she went on making no progress despite the relative simplicity of her self-appointed task. Squirming and struggling with mounting fervor, she began to work up a sweat once again - before long, she could feel the hot moisture inside sneakers that felt increasingly stuffy with each passing minute. Damp socks seemed to smother her sweaty toes, clinging relentlessly to her captive feet inside dual prisons of her own making. They were her shoes. She should have been able to take them off. She’d put them on. Slipping out of them shouldn’t have been a luxury, something that could be denied to her. It was a simple thing to untie and remove one’s own sneakers - all she had to do was reach down and untie them. Except that only resulted in her wrists tugging against heavy cuffs and a chain that allowed her to move not a millimeter farther than its length permitted. That, too, came into focus. The muscle-memory of untying shoelaces made it a thoughtless thing - when a force stopped those muscles with relentless finality, the muscles itched to complete their task. Having thoughtlessly tugged on the chains, Ash was suddenly aware of her bondage all over again, as if it were new.

Against her will, the thought wriggled into her mind that maybe this was just how her life would be. Maybe these chains weren’t a temporary discomfort, but a new way of life she was going to be forced to endure for the rest of her days. She wanted her shoes and socks off now, but there was a very real chance that once they were gone, she would never see them again. Barefoot, in chains, for the rest of her life. And some little part of her already wondered if, by struggling to get them off now, she was somehow bringing upon herself that very fate. Asking for it. Five, ten, fifty years from now she would be as youthful and vigorous as on this very day - still squirming and sweating in her bondage, suffering tortures and indignities on the rare occasions that guards or other prisoners daned to acknowledge her existence at all - would she look back on this very moment and hate herself all the more for her willingness to give up that which might otherwise not have been taken? This was all her fault…

Furious at herself for having let the dread seep back in unbidden, Ash rallied with renewed fervor toward the new, all-important goal of getting her stuffy shoes off - and ideally making that officer babe’s life a little more difficult in the process. It had been a while since she’d piped up. The last thing she wanted was to make her internment easy on the pretty lady keeping her here.

“Oi! Oi Officer Freckles!” Ash called suddenly, lifting one foot up, heavy chain dangling, rattling as she noisly rapped the sole of her shoe on the vertical bars. To Ash’s immense amusement, the woman actually looked up - and immediately seemed to regret the reflex given the way she returned focus to her terminal with renewed intensity. The new scowl on her face said it all. Her name, Ash decided, would now and forever more be ‘Officer Freckles’. This was a victory of immense proportions. “Ain’t you forgettin’ somethin~?” Again, Ash’s words seemed to have some effect - she saw something pass over Officer Freckles’ face - hard to tell at that distance, but she might have rolled her eyes - or maybe looked upward in a silent prayer to whatever kinky gods she supposed State Prison employees must worship. Maybe there were different deities for different kinks? That was an interesting idea. How exactly did one venerate the goddess of barefoot bondage? Would sacrifices be involved?

But Ash was on a mission now, and it had nothing to do with fetish-theology. Her long legs forced knees to bend as she put the smooth-worn soles of both sneakers against the bars, tapping rhythmically. “If I’m a prisoner, ain’t I supposed t’be barefoot? I ain’t deserve no shoes yeah? That’s ‘ow it works, innit? You’re lackin’ ‘ere, Freckles~!”

It was almost disappointing to be the only prisoner in the ward. Watching the guard try harder and harder to ignore her would have made an excellent show for other inmates. But legal insurance like Ash’s was a rare thing in the modern world. Operating a legal firm in the political environment perpetuated by The State was a harrowing, arduous task requiring the kind of gumption and dedication that few could spare, even taking into account the potentially profitable nature of that risky business.

“Y’can’t just lock a gal up in chains an’ leave’er shoes on mate! ‘At’s right irresponsible it is! Wot’ll the boss think if’e comes in ay? I got me some damn fine feet y’know, an it’d be a real shame f’I wasn’t forced t’show ‘em off all ~against’ my will~!” She sounded almost as if she were legitimately complaining - a boisterous patron who was paying too much to be kicked out - only the antagonistic lilt of her musical tone gave away the ploy. Her captive audience was already rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms, pinching the bridge of her nose. This, she realized later, likely had something to do with the shadow that appeared outside her tiny window of sight beyond the cell. The sound of boots on metal, then there was another guard - dressed in a more utilitarian, fatigue-style uniform - approaching the impeccably frustrated officer with a small black nylon bag slung over one shoulder. Ash couldn’t tell if she was relieved to see him, irritated with him, or both.

“Oi you there!” She called out as he passed, causing the young, clean-shaven man to falter and glance her way. Ash put on her most indignant pout, arching her back so that her breasts pressed up against the snug, comically nationalistic tee shirt and lifting one fettered leg to paw needfully at the bars with the toe of one sneakered foot. “Lookit this!” The heavy chain stretched taut as one foot rested with heel on the floor, the other tap-tap-tapping on the steel that kept her caged like a slave. “Don’t y’think I’d look better all chained up wit’ my bare soles pressed up against the bars~? Maybe lock that chain through ‘em so I got no choice!” Ash wiggled her toes back and forth in rhythm for emphasis, inwardly chafing at the smothering dampness of their confinement. To cover it up, the cheeky grin broadened and her eyes widened with a tantalizing glint of innocence. “I’m real ticklish, y’know~”

To her immense disappointment, the guard only blinked at her before proceeding with complete and total indifference. Ash huffed loudly, sneakered feet dropping heavily to the floor where the chain slapped with the staccato clank of metallic weight. Struggling with her insufferably persistent sneakers with redoubled vigor, she was barely aware of the guard and Officer Freckles speaking in hushed, impatient tones. Just her luck, in an industry so rampant with indulgent corruption that it was actively encouraged and had seeped into the societal norm, to find the two State employees somehow immune to the temptations of power. Ash simply could not believe that anyone could specialize in this line of work and not take at least some pleasurable liberties. There were easier, better paying jobs out there. Even someone diluted enough to want to uphold the State’s absurdist interpretation of ‘law’ would have had dozens of better options than this.

It was generally known that most facility employees had some degree of appreciation or fetishization of bondage, just as it was known that the privilege of being allowed to take advantage of attractive young convicts was a blatant selling point by recruiters. It was a major part of the reason why such a high percentage of all those imprisoned in contract facilities were young and attractive, with some seventy percent being female - while the more ‘unsavory’ criminals tended to get put into more traditional prisons or hard labor camps among the asteroids and outer planets to be tormented and abused in different ways by a different breed of authority.

Generally, the further speculation of them all having pronounced foot fetishes was considered half in jest - shoes, socks and undergarments were not included in the uniform of any prisoner within the contract-prison system, universally deemed an unnecessary expense. Over the decades since the State’s nearly-forgotten takeover of Sol, the authoritarian prison culture had permeated society in subtle ways, infusing the population as a whole with ideals and interests that only years before would have been considered niche, even taboo fetishes. Most people could appreciate - sexually or otherwise - a young, attractive, barefoot woman squirming in heavy chains. As many people could appreciate the shapely curves and arches of a pair of perfectly proportioned feet and toes as the hourglass figure of a woman, the trim physique of a handsome man, or the slender androgynous form of someone in between. A pretty convict girl struggling in her chains was no different than an attractive model on a billboard, the idea of using and abusing her no less desirable than good sex with a consenting partner.

Yet there they were, ignoring her like she didn’t exist.

What if that was going to be her punishment?

The idea struck Ash like a high-speed train. That was something she didn’t know if she would be able to handle. What if her whole sentence would be the torture of being completely ignored? Of moaning desperately into her gag, squirming helpless in her bondage, begging passers-by for even the slightest glance or acknowledgement of her existence? The idea was horrifying.

Screwing her eyes shut, Ash shook her head fervently, dispelling the thought with all the force and tact of a metaphysical sledgehammer. Her quest for the agency to remove her shoes became even more vital. The multicolored laces refused to budge under the clumsy pawing of the worn-slick sole of her other shoe. The toe slipped over snugly-fitted ankles as she levered at the heel, feeling freedom so close, yet so far away. The struggle was just beginning to consume her when the shadow falling over her person brought her back to reality. Pausing abruptly in her efforts, Ash blinked innocently up at the figure of Officer Freckles, already in the process of unlocking her narrow cell door. Caught off guard, the petulant defiance which had defined her presence to this point was conspicuously absent. The prisoner only watched owlishly as the officer stepped through into her cell, then obediently, even meekly lifted both feet into the air before her. She found herself glancing submissively off to the side, still panting faintly from her efforts as she visibly accepted the confiscation of her sneakers as punishment.

Ash was thoroughly taken aback when she felt the sudden tug on her ankle chain, no longer swinging in an even arc, but bowed in the center where Officer Freckles’ small, strong hand gripped it in an iron fist. Again, the prisoner blinked at her captor, who now hunkered on one knee before her, hazel eyes focused with laser intensity and a depth of purpose that sent a nervous thrill down Ash’s spine.

It was enough to reignite the fire.

This was the part Ash was most familiar with. Even though her partner wasn’t exactly a willing participant in the game, the rules were the same and she knew how to play it from here. Full lips smirked back at the officer’s stony mask of quiet irritation, causing a glimmer of impatience that the imprisoned girl found delightfully unnerving. Now that she had the handsome woman right where she wanted her, Ash decided a little resistance was in order. Squirming softly, she tugged at the chain, which the officer held fast, vice-like in her grip. She leveled a smoldering leer of defiance at her from beneath the burgundy hair, tossing her head to clear it from her face. The bratty little sneer emphasized the fullness of her lips, the sharp, steely grey of her eyes, hooded with mischievous purpose of her own. Pulling one foot back made her hips twist, the hem of her shirt riding up, the waistband of her baggy jeans tugged down to reveal a tantalizing strip of freckled ebony skin.

“You do like feet, don’ya Freckles? Got you a lil’ fetish yeah?” she needled, her voice a knowing, husky purr. Almost cheerful she went on. “Ey, don’t get me wrong I’m right there wit’ya. F’you wanna’ take them boots off an’ step on me a bit be my guest babe~ I got a very talented tongue~” emphasizing this, the ebon-skinned prisoner opened her mouth and licked the air, just once, smoldering eyes locked on the guard’s own increasingly intense - and decidedly uncomfortable - stare. This resulted in briefly getting a stray lock of sweat-heavy burgundy hair in her mouth, which she spit back out as subtly as possible, not breaking eye contact.

Her rapidly multiplying flippancy helped to keep the looming cloud of anxiety at bay. Ash actually did get off on this sort of thing. Being stripped, chained up, and forced to give her brawny captor’s sweaty feet an extensive tongue-bath honestly didn’t sound so bad. It was the sort of peril she would eagerly have brought upon herself with biting remarks and a plucky, defiant attitude in one of the many bondage lounges she regularly patronized on her time off. The fact that her present predicament being no mere roleplay lent an irresponsible air of excitement to the notion. There were no safewords here. They would not unlock her chains and release her from this cell no matter what she did or said. Her human rights were severely limited in a legal capacity. Being bound by law was a far more dubious restraint than any mere ropes or chains. She wasn’t just playing with fire - she was playing with the pilot light of a flamethrower aimed at her head - and it was exhilarating. It was so easy to cast aside her fears, forget about the potentially life-changing peril she was actually in, simply to indulge in this one moment of fantastical risk and reward.

Officer Freckles was seething. Ash could tell, even behind the woman’s barely constrained mask of stony indifference. She could see faint tinges of color on the olive-toned cheeks, and had the distinct pleasure of being able to see the other guard watching the woman from behind as she taunted her. The way her dark eyes regarded the sensually squirming prisoner obliquely, without actually landing that heated gaze upon her.

The lady liked what she saw. Ash could have seen that a mile away. She had enticed more than enough dominant women with her bratty attitude and resistant struggles over the years to know when they were into it, even if they weren’t necessarily ready to admit it to themselves. Only twenty four, but even so few years could be packed tight with experiences, and Ash had taken full advantage of her time. The realization filled Ash with that familiar warmth - the hedonistic pride of being desirable that burned in her chest, intoxicating. The stark, unbelieving reality of the situation seemed only to heighten that sensation, almost making her giddy.

Even if the officer thought she was in charge, she wasn’t. Not really. It was the same with most of the dominant partners Ash had played out scenes with. She was in control - she was the thing they wanted, and so she could wrap them around her finger with her biting words and playful, practiced struggles. Whether they knew it or not, they were as much a slave to their own desires as Ash was to them - and the feeling of power, even while constrained and bound, was exhilerating.

“You ain’t gagged me yet. Must be a reason for that yeah? Maybe you got some other plans f’my mouth huh~?” Ash purred, grinning crookedly, antagonistic with the sultry gaze that glowed under stray, tousled hair. The officer winced almost imperceptibly at her mention of the conspicuously missing gag. Her jaw worked as she visibly struggled to maintain her patience and stoicism - both of which were slipping away at an alarming rate.

Ash giggled - a low, throaty chuckle that clearly grated on the other woman’s nerves. “Wot, scared I’ll be too tough for ya?” She goaded, tugging pointedly at the chains so that the limitations of her movement were emphasized. The heavy cuffs rattling over her head would allow wrists to go so far, and no farther - stopping when they reached their chains’ meager limit as suddenly and surely as if she were knocking on a solid wall. When the officer didn’t take the bait, Ash scoffed and rolled her eyes, shoulders slackening as she let her weight fall petulantly back against where the wall met the floor. Back arching, head turned to the side so that eyes peered sidelong up at the woman with unsubtle deviance, she waggled her shod feet where they hung suspended by the officer’s firm grasp. “Well if y’ain’t gonna’ do that at least take my feckin’ kicks off yeah? I in’t s’pposed t’be wearin’em anyhow. Ain’t no shoes inn’a uniform.” The grin, toothy and mischievous, returned with a vengeance. “Won’t be ‘ere long anyhow, might as well git the full experience while I can yeah?” If she asserted it aloud, maybe it would be true.
Whether in silent argument, agreement, or total indifference Ash could not tell - Officer Freckles, without any fuss, wordlessly proceeded with playing right into Ash’s hand. Or, more poetically, her feet.

Freckles made it look so easy. Where Ash had flailed and squirmed and sweated for who knew how long, the dour officer deftly yanked back the sneaker’s plush tongue, wedged a finger between the cuff and the gentle indentation of her ankle, and tugged. The sneaker came off as though it had never offered any resistance, only catching on the slick socked heel for a moment before sliding away smooth and easy. Under the baggy jeans that flared beneath heavy shackles, the dark ball of her ankle stood out in contrast where it met the hem of the low-cut white sock. Its worn fabric clung to the shape of her foot, toes standing out as faint depressions beneath its snugly fitted surface. The cotton was hot and damp with day-old sweat, a musky scent following the confiscated sneaker and lingering in the tiny field of warm air. Not overpowering, but still as strong as one might expect of a woman who made her living on her feet. Ash didn’t care, and the guard didn’t appear to notice at all. She merely discarded the sneaker at her back, letting it tumble ineffectually to the floor, as her second hand was occupied with holding aloft the heavy chain, forcing the seated girl’s feet into the air for easy access.

With the second shoe tugged off and discarded, Ash’s two socked feet hung aloft, suspended by the chain held in one strong fist. She splayed out long, slender toes that strained the sodden fabric, forming a symmetrical bloom of peaks and depressions. The pinkish hue of her soles and the pads of her toes could just barely be seen through the wet, white cotton, pressing out on the fabric as if imprisoned in some clinging bondage of their own.

“Right, come on then. Take off my socks. On wit’ it!” Ash urged, hushed and husky, almost needfully, flexing her arches and pulling back splayed toes, butterflying them, further straining the thin cloth where it clung below the ball of her ankles. “You wanna’ see my bare feet in chains so bad - wot’ ye gonna’ do to em’ ay? You gonna torture my ‘elpless captive toes?” She scrunched and un-scrunched the long, mobile toes in question for emphasis, thin fabric wrinkling, going taut, wrinkling again.

The officer, glaring now, hooked a finger under the hem of the sock in the tiny gap between the ball of the ankle and the heel. Deftly, she peeled the garment away - it clung persistently, almost struggling itself, turning inside-out as it rolled over the slender heel, but still sid away as it was tugged up the arch, over the ball, and finally away from the tips of her toes. Long, shapely toes splayed out immediately, drinking in the fresh, cool air. The dark, freckled top contrasted pinkish sole and toe-pads. Minute bits of cotton and the faintest traces of specks of sand - a grain, two - clung to velveteen skin made supple and reddened by their exertion and confinement. The remaining sweat was not a glistening sheen, but a plush, heated softness exuding the musky, but not unnatural scent of clean - if pungent - perspiration. Soft enough to make that smooth satin texture inexplicably visible, Ash’s feet were exquisitely cared for with unpainted, carefully trimmed nails, free of even the slightest calluses despite her highly athletic lifestyle.

Officer Freckles stared, clearly not realizing she was doing it. The look lasted only a second, long enough for splayed toes to curl in a horizontal half-moon shape that emphasized the striated lines and peaks of elegant knuckles - but that was long enough.

Unexpectedly, without the slightest hesitation, Ash yanked the shapely foot back, to the side, nosing the big toe up under the same gap in the opposite sock to forcefully tear it off in a single, smooth kick. It dangled unbidden on her big toe for an instant, then fell into the officer’s lap as, instinctually wrangling the chain to maintain control in the face of sudden movements, and possible resistance, played right into Ash’s little trick. Without warning the ebony-skinned prisoner was fervently pressing both sets of hot, sweat-slick toes directly into the kneeling guard’s face. Splayed toes fanned out over nose and cheeks, balls pressing into lips with little regard for precision or direction. To her delight, she even managed to wedge a couple of her toes into the stunned officer’s mouth, catching the briefest touch of hot damp, soft tongue and grazing teeth for all of the second-and-a-half she’d managed to keep contact.

Officer Freckles reacted automatically, eyes going comically wide, face flushing bright fuschia as lips parted in sheer surprise to admit the invasive toes further into her mouth against her will. Then, with a breathy grunt of outrage, she lurched back, dropping the chain linking her prisoner's ankles.

The smug, downright evil smile on Ash’s thickly freckled face was patently infuriating as she pulled her bare feet in toward her, dextrous toes again splaying and wiggling to show off the trio of subtle, but accentuating toe rings she wore beneath her socks. Deftly, big and second toes pinched the thick chain, setting up for what would doubtless be a masterful show for anyone who could appreciate a perfect set of peds. The show, however, was canceled before it could begin.

Ash’s eyes widened as the officer, face now a barely constrained mask of rage and indignation, came at her. Before she knew what was happening, Officer Freckles was on top of her, straddling her lap awkwardly, pinning the captive’s legs together in the inexorable grip of strong thighs. Allowing herself a toothy snarl now that their faces were close enough to obscure anyone else from seeing, the furious officer grabbed a fistful of Ash’s long hair and yanked her head back, forcefully wrenching the prisoner’s astonished to look up at her in the first stages of protest. Ash was not given the chance to speak or voice her outrage at the unnecessarily rough treatment, nor lament the way the back of her head struck the wall hard enough to leave a bruise. Before anything more than an abortive growl was issued from her throat, Ash felt to her horror the smothering wetness of her own dirty socks being pressed forcefully over her nose and mouth.

Eyes wide nearly to the point of circularity, Ash impulsively sucked in air through her nose and mouth, only to have her senses flooded with the scent of her own musky feet. The officer’s palm pressed down harder and breathing suddenly became a stark impossibility. Eyes like saucers, panic immediately welling up from the depths of the icy claw gripping Ash’s gut, the prisoner immediately started to buck and squirm beneath the relentless grip. She couldn’t move an inch. Chest heaving, her wrists yanked uselessly again and again at the chains locking them over her head. She bucked and writhed, but her legs were pinned together and it accomplished little more than rasping the chain between her ankles on the cold floor behind her oppressor. She shook her head violently back and forth, uselessly flailing in her mounting desperation, finding that no matter how she moved the hand was always there, pressing down, inexorable and unrelenting. The officer’s eyes were hot with indignation, yet cold with seething resentment. Her freckled olive-skinned face was still flushed, but Ash failed to notice as her desperation grew and grew to exponential levels. She was drowning, smothered, buried alive beneath that hateful hazel gaze which showed no signs of mercy or remorse. Ash bucked and writhed, mouth agape, head thrashing wildly as it began to grow light from oxygen deprivation.

Then, unexpectedly, air rushed in through her nose as, with a second harsh yanking of a fistful of hair, the socks were forcibly pressed between her lips, immediately stuffing her mouth with the heavy, bitter wetness of days-unwashed cotton socks. Ash hardly noticed that, too busy inhaling and exhaling with fervor, body struggling to circulate as much oxygen as possible in the least amount of time. Air hissed from her nose, chest heaving as the officer plastered her lips with a palm, keeping her head pinned against the metal wall at her back.

Long seconds passed, and Ash had not fully regained her breath before the rage and indignation boiled up from within her. That was not what she had been expecting. She was outraged. She hadn’t deserved that. Still panting for air, Ash let out a muffled series of curses, rendered into unintelligible sounds by the sopping socks she was only now starting to really notice had been stuffed into her mouth. Furious, Ash once more thrashed her head from side to side, mouth and captive tongue working fervently to eject the foul invader that threatened to make her gag with its bitter, unclean tang and miserably porous consistency. It was not allowed to be ejected, as the officer pinned her there with that strong, olive-skinned hand and hateful glare. Ash was undeterred, meeting that harsh gaze with one of her own, defying the torture with stout resolution. She didn’t see what Officer Freckles was pulling from behind her back until it was too late - and in a series of deft, practiced gestures that even Ash had to admit were pretty impressive, a complex panel gag was wrapped tightly around her head like a cage to keep the filthy socks trapped in her mouth.

Ash could only gape angrily out from behind the oppressive faux-leather straps as the foul, bitter taste of sweat literally folded down onto her tongue, filling her mouth. Shaking her head vigorously as if to throw the harness off, her tongue worked futilely in a lost cause effort to push out the intruding socks. It only multiplied the bitter taste, as if she were trying to appreciate the revolting sensory input with her full palette. The firm straps encircling her head like a snug net kept her from opening her jaw. There was a carefully even expression on the officer’s face that she could see around where the blurry diagonal straps partially obscured her own eyes - a glint of smug satisfaction showing through where otherwise only contempt, irritation, and professional blankness were allowed.

Ash found herself once again bucking at her chains - the hot, sweaty soles of her naked feet instantly picking up traces of dust and grime from the floor as if magnetized. The officer allowed herself to be shrugged off, standing dignified and superior beside the suddenly thrashing prisoner, calmly looking down her nose - though still blushing with something that, despite herself, was not entirely hateful. Even in the midst of her blustering, impetuous fury, Ash could obliquely recognize that the smug, handsome lady still liked what she saw. Not knowing how to feel about that in her present fugue of distress, Ash refused to dwell on it, instead opting to futilely grunt muffled, incoherent curses as the compact woman went about picking up her discarded sneakers.

Pausing, holding the shoes hooked over her first two fingers, Officer Freckles regarded the old, worn sneakers with an unfathomable expression. She could see inside where long use had imprinted the shape of Ash’s long, slender soles and heels into the insole. Worn very nearly to the point of no return, the scent issued from within was pungent and stale. Grimacing at the sharp odor, the officer glanced to the still writhing prisoner briefly and seemed to come to a decision of little consequence. With all the ceremony of depositing unwanted articles in a donation bin, Officer Freckles placed Ash’s dirty old sneakers down beside her, where the still warm air lingering within rose softly to caress the girl’s dark cheek, invading her personal space in subtle, insidious ways.

Then, having never spoken a word, Officer Freckles spun on a booted heel, exited the tiny cell, slammed the barred door - then again slammed a secondary door that Ash hadn’t even realized was hidden in front of the first. A solid plate of thin, but doubtless soundproof tantalite-infused steel came down to block out the world, leaving Ash in silent solitude with only the hissing of chains and the wafting scent of her own feet to keep her company.

Left alone to suffer in silence, Ash slumped against the wall and glared down at her second favorite pair of shoes, sitting there so innocently.

The impotence of it all was maddening. What seemed on some fundamental level to be a simple, elementary task - merely ejecting something vile from her mouth - was made utterly impossible by the presence of a force constricting her head and locking the intruder in. All she could do was shake her head vigorously, furiously, to no effect. The indignity made her grit her teeth, inadvertently biting down on the saturated socks, essentially wringing them out in her mouth and further invading her with the wet, sour tang of her own foot sweat.

It wasn’t disgusting or unhygienic, but the natural musk one would expect of the feet of a woman who made her living in physical exertion was strong and forward. The hot scent demanded attention, distracted, but did not overpower. That was somehow worse - if it had dominated the small space and settled around her completely, she might have been able to grow accustomed to it. Learn to ignore it.

Instead, it lingered there with her, often subsiding until some ambient shift of air once more brought her just one more reminder of her helplessness and captivity, from an unexpected source. She thought she had some idea of exactly why the barefoot prisoners policy was so proliferant now. It wasn’t that there was anything inherently humiliating about being without shoes. Wearing revealing footwear or kicking off one’s shoes in public was generally appreciated in the same ways as a woman’s midriff-exposing cropped top or plunging neckline. There was nothing to be ashamed about. Walking around with bare feet might not always be the best or most hygienic option depending on one’s circumstances, but that didn’t mean being shoeless was anything to be ashamed of.

It was not the exposure, but the circumstance that had the subtly demeaning effect on a prisoner’s mind. Not only would the wellbeing of her soft, sensitive soles be a constant factor on her mind as she picked her way through life, but the universal certainty that she wasn’t doing it by choice would linger with her every careful step of the way. There was nothing wrong with being into bondage either - but finding herself forcibly locked in heavy shackles was more demoralizing than merely confining. With all agency taken from her, there was little need to emphasize that lack. It would be known in small ways - and each facet more patently demeaning than the last.

Heaving a heavy, hissing sigh through her nose, Ash bit down once again on the foul cotton in her mouth, wondering not for the first time how they could feel so sopping wet while her mouth felt dry and parched. In the quietude of her cell, only the faint buzzing of the unnecessary, glaring light overhead persisted as a background to the occasional clinking of cuffs, hissing of chains, and padding of dirty bare feet on the cold metal floor. The gag bit into her head, constricting around her, seeming to trap her in some unspecified, intangible way. The light hummed, bright and relentless, allowing no respite of darkness to lend the possibility of rest even with the solid door closing her off from the world. She rubbed her feet together, feeling the faint tickling of bits of dust and grit roll between her long, curvaceous soles as chains snaked back and forth on the floor in time. They were cold now, though not unbearably so. The hot sweat she had so gleefully smeared over the officer’s face was now dissipated - in the small, enclosed space, it would disperse into the air, where the tireless temporary AmbroLite nanobots that had been forced down her throat in pill-form upon her arrest recycled it through her lungs over and over. She might as well have been drowning in it.

With a surge of resentful indignation, Ash realized that her encounter with the brawny Officer Freckles had in fact stuck with her. Much to her consternation, it occurred to her that the handsome woman had actually gotten her a little bit turned on. And realizing that, Ash’s solitary confinement suddenly became an inward struggle not to succumb to the kinds of thoughts that prisoners had been distracting themselves with since time began. A spark of cold dread welled in her chest, knowing very well what effect Ambrosol had on arousal, even to a small degree. Without her hands, there would be no finishing the job - she was trapped in that earliest stage of excitement, not brought to the forefront of her mind, but lingering, like the scent of her own musky shoes, at the edge of comprehension to drift in and out of her awareness, relentlessly unpredictable.

Growling into the vile gag, Ash squirmed, tried to focus on something, distract herself - and failed miserably. Suspended in a vague, hazy space of sensations too slight to be preoccupying but too prominent to be forgotten, she glared at the unmoving door and hoped against hope that maybe, just maybe, it would open soon.

Chances were that she had at least a few more weeks to go.

If she was lucky.