This story pertains to foot fetishism and includes worshiping a rude robot. 
All characters are depicted as 18+




Perhaps you should have read better, then you would have seen the fine print below. Actually–even if you did read the fine print, there was nothing you could do to prevent this. The papers clearly stated, "No refunds." So now, you're stuck with a silicone-fleshed, one hundred pound hunk of metal in your tiny house. 
Once you opened the front door it was already too late. The being in question was a robot expected to be a full-time maid, but instead of a gentle greeting, you were met with a careless shrug. The robot quickly clarified if this was the correct address. The situation seemed odd, but you took no mind to it. You nodded to the robot with long black hair and a featureless face. In response, she stormed into your house. Any attempt at an introduction was shrugged off when she kicked down your bedroom door, stole your skull patterned pajamas out of your closet, and changed into them. They looked better on her anyway. You didn't even have a chance to introduce yourself before the robot lady brushed past you and stormed into your living room. She took a moment to look around before she swiped a gaming controller for herself. The robot sat down on your couch, put her feet on your clean table, and then boldly demanded you feed her. How atrocious! Being the pushover that you are, you listened and ordered pizza.
You attempted to sit down and chat, but the robot was having none of it. She shrugged you off, called you "cringe," and ordered you off of the couch like you were a dog. "How about you make yourself useful and massage my sore feet." She blatantly proposed. And, of course, being the person you were, you promptly approached her feet displayed on your table. Gray, synthetic fabric replaced what would be skin, hundreds of wrinkles formed as she scrunched her foot and began playing on your favorite game. Deleting your save file and starting from scratch. 
You opened your puny mouth in hopes of speaking, just barely getting a squeak out before the arch of the robot's foot smushed against your face. Smothered by the foot, you struggled to breathe while your clean air turned into corrosive gas fueled by the robot's foot. You did not really understand why the robot smelled this way, but you could take a few guesses as to how. Her smooth sole rubbed its whole length across the tip of your nose as she uttered something about the video game looking stupid.
Swiftly, you made a sloppy attempt to pry your face away from the oddly wet silicone to escape the musky scent. You could hear the robot mumble how unfair and dumb the game was. Looking at your television, she was spamming the dodge button on slow attacks, missing the most basic inputs and punishes, and wasting all of her healing in mere seconds after getting hit. It was astounding that a robot, someone entirely built on the internet, was so terrible at video games. Once again, you attempted to speak and even gave her tips as to how to play the game, but during your speech she decided she'd mash your face with her sole, call you a backseat gamer, and remind you of your puny position beneath her. "I have a better use for that stupid mouth of yours." 
Her toes wiggled and wrapped around your nose. You didn't even have a chance to defy her before she ordered you to roll out your tongue. And you did so, like a pet, you opened your pitiful maw, stuck out your tongue, and mindlessly lapped away at her sore foot. Taste buds assaulted by an acrid taste. Small beads of what you assumed to be sweat rolled down the robot's sole and into your cavernous maw. The robot didn't even give you the satisfaction of praise, merely pressing down on your face and ordering you to lick slower as sounds of repeated death after death resounded from behind. The feet used your tongue as a towel, wiping all of their dirt and anger off and replacing it with a slick layer of saliva. Your nose was tortured by the potent smell between her toes while she did so. Then, if it was not bad enough, she raised her smooth foot off of your face, giving you a brief moment to breathe before violently slamming the heel of her foot onto your dry lips. "You forgot to dry them off, loser." 
Her sole wiped off all of that saliva on your forehead and eyelids. However, you were gifted with one saving grace depending on how you looked at it: the friction of the robot's sole was null due to your fresh coating of saliva. Afterwards, she went on to continue completely ignoring you and your existence, instead going back to her video game. You were wordless. You did not know what to do. It was as if your whole world had just been flipped upside down. Your mouth was as dry as a dessert. Any fragrance you one knew had become distant memories, and the plushness of the fabric foot was putting you in a daze.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang, which took you out of that daze. "Is that my pizza? It better be, I am starving. Get the door." Time melded together, you forgot you even ordered pizza, you pried your face off of the robot's sole, shuffled around your mind for where you left your wallet, eventually found it by accident in your pockets and stumbled to the door. Your trembling hands pulled on the door handle. Revealing a man with a pizza box in his hand. You unzipped your wallet. The only thing you could do was pray that the delivery boy did not notice your embarrassed state. You'd not even speak, for you were terrified of stumbling on your words. 
Finally, after what felt like an hour of waiting for the delivery boy to hand you the food, you managed to grab the pizza box and waddle over to the couch. Setting yourself on her couch and placing the pizza box on her table. Watching her play on her video game, albeit rather poorly. The soft couch tempted you with their silent promises of sweet dreams. And just as you were drowsing off, the robot shot her angry gaze at you. "Why the hell aren't you feeding me already? Hop to it! And after I'm done, I better see you taking care of my feet again. It was a hassle to walk all the way over here, so you better do a damn good job." 
Flustered and a total pushover, you silently apologized as if you were the one to blame for not knowing. Sitting on the floor next to the gray, polyester foot so you wouldn't doze off and alternating between feeding the robot a slice of pizza and tending to her soles for hours on end, each time she died to the first boss again she would force you to kiss her foot as she slammed it into your face. Finding you reminiscent of the boss she fought, she decided to insult you, call you cringe, a terrible, unfair, spamming enemy who only knows one move and deserves to be kept under foot like the worm you are. She even claimed that her controller was broken. Of course, demanding that you order a new one. 
The rest of the day consisted of pulling an all-nighter, ending with your face battered and coated in grime, while the robot celebrated her victory against the first boss. She made sure to rub that in as well. Not a single slice of pizza graced your mouth that night. Your stomach was full of the dirt beneath the robot. And as you stood there, mesmerized, you watched the robot walk towards your bedroom and climb onto your warm bed. She planted her face into a large pillow with her soles displayed and demanded that you kiss her feet until she soundly fell asleep. That was the final reminder that you were stuck with her from now on. 
You should have read the fine print.
---------
This is a short story I whipped up in a half hour. I should be doing a request right now, but something about the story made my heart drop and I wanted to take my mind off the story... so I guess this is an escape, haha. 
I also want to try RPing some day. Despite me being terrified of speaking, I want to at least try. Even if my conversations skills are awkward at best.