Two hundred tiny eyes were watching me, and even though they were so little I could barely make them out behind the glass, I could feel them on me, eagerly watching my every move.  I delighted in having an audience, and now I had the biggest I’d ever had.  I focused my eyes in the candlelit darkness and tried to make them out, tiny figures moving within the aquarium on my coffee table.

They’d come looking for me, eager to encounter the woman behind the stories and the videos and the chats.  They wanted to know more, to see the things I did, and most of them found me bewitching and my habits terribly exciting.  I leaned over and picked up the shoebox from the floor, setting it next to me on the couch, then kicked out my legs, dropping my heels noisily onto the table and showing off my huge grey Uggs for my tiny friends.

“You like them, don’t you?” I purred to my pals, watching as some of them rushed to the side of their container, staring at my massive boots.  I crossed them at the ankles, turning them slowly side to side.  I’d smashed a dozen or so under them a few weeks ago, to the point where their flesh was spread across the soles, their mashed meat dangling from my heels, but that wasn’t in my plans tonight.

I hooked the heels of my boots, one after another, on the edge of the table and slid them off, freeing my striped sock-covered feet from their plush, warm confines for the first time in twelve hours or so.  “Mmm,” I sighed, flexing my toes and sliding them towards the glass.

My little guests started to surge towards my feet, piling on top of one another.  My soles lightly touched the cool surface, their humid heat fogging the glass.  “Yeah, you love them, don’t you, you tiny shits?” I chuckled to myself, watching them press their faces to the wall.  I gently rubbed my feet against the glass, back and forth as they followed their every move.   “If only you could touch them, right?  If only you could kiss my soft, hot socks… but maybe you can at least feel their fantastic warmth, hmm?”

I pulled my feet back and could see a few of their little faces pressed against the fogged up surface, kissing and licking where my feet had been.  I let them do what they would while I busied myself with something else for a moment, and in the next moment a burst of gory goo exploded against the glass when I slammed my toes back against it, crushing the first of my playthings from the box into the fogged surface, smearing his remains back and forth with a few twists of my foot.

“Squish, squish, squish,” I sighed, laughing a bit as they tumbled away from my lethal toes.  Much to my delight, most came rushing back, grinning madly at the sight of me callously killing the first tiny man.  It felt good to kill him, for sure, but their twisted adulation excited me all the more.

“Of course, you know they’re all real people,” I mused to none of them in particular as I scooped a couple more tiny people out of the box.  They were all still fully clothed, like they’d been freshly plucked from the streets, but I didn’t care where I got my tiny toys from.  “Mothers, husbands, wives… they all had full, real lives before they ended up with me.”

I rose slowly from my couch, idly tilting my hand back and forth and letting the tiny people tumble around my hand.  Most of my attention was with them, but I was still aware of the ones behind the glass staring up at me, slackjawed in their awe of my towering, slender frame.  “That’s why,” I continued, letting one of those people tumble through my fingers, a young woman that screamed as she fell to the table, “it’s so exquisite to crush all of that under my foot.”

Her screams began anew as I raised my knee towards my chest, lifting my foot up over the edge of the table, letting it hover in the air above her.  “C’mon, sweetheart.  At least tell us your name.”

The things behind the glass were clamoring for her end.  Their eyes shifted from the innocent girl to the bottom of my already bloodstained sock and then back again, and a few of them even whispered, “Please, please,” in desperation, impatient to see her die.

I, however, was the soul of patience.  I continued to smile, amused by letting her scream and scream until her voice began to fade.  I was comfortable and balanced enough with my toes resting against the side of the aquarium, drawing more little eyes upwards.  My hands ran down over my black tights, then further along the tall socks I wore over them as I posed for my victim and my friends.  “Name.  Now,” I demanded, and she couldn’t resist complying.

“Libby,” she croaked, then went back to whimpering and her half hearted wails, and I grinned a bit more to myself.  “Libby,” I muttered, and then I started to lower my foot.

I didn’t need to hurry at all.  She was already exhausted from her panicked screams and whatever else she’d been forced to endure on the way to where she belonged.  She did kind of kick and crawl and cry a bit, but it took no effort at all to pin her beneath my foot.  “Can you see her, little ones?” I asked of my gallery, and I heard their delighted cries rising from their glassy prison.

“Libby,” I sighed, shifting my weight and rolling my toes across her body.  Bones cracked and I felt a warmth spreading beneath my sole along with the one rising from my  the core.  “Crushing Libby,” I purred, lifting my heel and pressing down, twisting and crunching what was left of the girl.

They were ecstatic, touching themselves. Touching each other.  Smashed against the glass and groaning with delight at her death.  I moaned softly myself as I dragged my foot back, showing off the reddish streaks that Libby had become.

I took a deep, shaky breath and dropped back to the couch, watching my tiny, captive audience continue to cheer me.  I knew they were staring at my bloodstained sole, but I had two more still squirming in the palm of my hand.  I realized I hadn’t even looked at them yet, and I opened my grasp to look them over.  Some businessman type and a nice looking middle-aged woman in khakis and a sweater.  “You might think that everything you’ve been to this point, every moment in your little lives doesn’t matter to me, but it’s precisely the opposite, little ones.”

I watched them cling together under my smoldering gaze.  Maybe they knew each other, maybe they’d just met.  It wouldn’t matter in a second either way.  “Some would call tiny things like you insects, you know, but me…”

I started to curl my fingers around them, bringing them inward, and instantly they began  scratching and crawling and scrabbling, but they were literally in the palm of my hand.  There was nowhere for them to go.

My fingertips touched the heel of my hand, covering the man and woman in darkness, but my eyes were on my watchers, meeting their eager, yearning gaze as my grip tightened and I felt the two struggling forms writhing against my flesh.

They broke.  Slowly.  I pressed my fingers into my hand, tightened my fist, and just squeezed.  I could feel their hot insides burst, feel the tiny, juicy bits of them squishing between my fingers and dribbling along my wrist.

“I just adore squishing people,” I concluded, a bit breathless from the rush those two gave me, and the tiny things behind the glass cried out for more.