Hero·Silver：Mask and Soles

English Version:（Translate by Grok）

This excerpt is taken from a previous private commission and is **not** related to the bonus art storyline. Contains **foot abuse** elements—viewer discretion advised.

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“Tch, why resist so much? You heroes love stepping on our heads with your feet, don’t you?”

Under the Vallains leader’s forceful grip, the young hero’s thick, sturdy foot is pressed against Mimir’s face. The smirking Vallains boss narrows his eyes, savoring the thrilling texture of the sole against his cheek.

Perhaps due to his scout and rescue missions, Silver’s foot is remarkably thick yet not clumsy, brimming with volume to the touch. The broad sole and heel go without saying, but even the toe pads and arch bear a thin layer of hard calluses, varying in thickness. Wrapped in slick foot sweat, the tough calluses and springy arch create a bizarrely enticing sensation, driving Mimir wild with excitement.

Likely from nerves, Silver’s sole secretes copious sweat, its scent growing richer. Unable to resist his wicked urges, the Vallains boss kisses the thick muscle along the side of the foot, inhales deeply, then extends his tongue to lick Silver’s arch.

“…Urghaa!!”

The sturdy foot jerks, clearly tickled. Tasting the salty tang of the boy’s foot sweat, mixed with earthy dust and a hint of soap, Mimir flashes an evil grin, gripping the edges of Silver’s thick sole with both hands. His thumbs press into the arch, scratching lightly then heavily in turn.

“…Nghh! …Stop… urgh!! …Nghaa!!”

The spread foot tenses instantly, its rugged toes curling tight. Normally, Silver’s strength could easily yank his foot free from Mimir’s grasp. But now, under the influence of potent drugs, the young hero can’t muster the strength to escape, left to the mercy of the vile Vallains boss.

Skilled in torture, Mimir has “played” with countless feet, his techniques second nature. Facing a young hero with drug-heightened sensitivity only makes it easier. The Vallains boss escalates gradually—pressing, kneading, scratching with perfect rhythm—pushing to the maximum stimulation. Silver’s thick sole trembles, then quakes, reddens, heats up, and finally spasms uncontrollably.

“…Ngh… nghaaa!! …Stop… quit it, nghaa!! …Urghhh!”

The sensitive young hero has never endured such vicious, relentless torment. Hellish itching and stinging make Silver convulse, his cheeks flushed crimson, stifled groans spilling from his lips as he fights to suppress them. His calf muscles tense like steel.

Catching a glimpse of the young hero’s chiseled calves, Mimir frees one hand, sliding it up Silver’s sturdy ankle to his calf, pressing acupoints in the same rhythm. The dual assault from arch and calf overwhelms the young hero, his robust frame shuddering violently.

“…Nghh… urghaa… stop… nghh…!!”

Hearing the pained, masculine groans squeezing from Silver’s throat, Mimir savors the delicious foot sweat scent, scratching relentlessly for five minutes. Only when Silver’s powerful right leg is drenched in sweat, beads rolling over Mimir’s hands, does the Vallains boss smirk, shake his head, and slowly stand.

“…Haa… ngh… haa… haa…”

Shackled tightly, Silver’s muscles remain rigid, gasping for air. The young hero’s once-lively eyes are nearly vacant, his dry mouth agape, drool streaming from the corners, his throat bobbing unnaturally.

Clearly, the intense itch, pain, and overwhelming pleasure from his sensitive foot are too much for Silver, a novice to such stimulation. Several moments leave his nerves paralyzed, teetering on semi-asphyxiation.

Looking down, the Vallains boss hums lightly, his lustful gaze brimming with a dominator’s glee—if he kept this up, the poor young hero might faint on the spot. Silver isn’t without fatal weaknesses; they lie in this peculiar spot—his feet. Amplified stimulation can shatter the defenses of even a hero trained against interrogation, collapsing under overwhelming nerve overload.

“Hahaha… little punk, you tricked me earlier. In our organization, deceiving me earns you the ultimate punishment.”

Eyeing the large sweat drops rolling down Silver’s chiseled neck, Mimir glances at a nearby computer screen, noting a glaring red number. He grins wickedly, bends down again, and exhales a hot breath over Silver’s sweat-soaked sole.

“…Nghh!”

The wet, tingling sensation surges through Silver’s body. His shoulders shudder as he desperately stifles instinctive moans, breathing raggedly—the sadistic bastard puckers his lips, alternating hot and cold breaths on Silver’s sole, tormenting him endlessly.

“…What… are you… talking about… urghhh! …Haa… urghhh!”

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ENG

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