Brent Tucker wandered down the wide hall of upper management royalty, toward the silver-spackled door marked Chief Executive Officer - Barbara Perkins. Shuffling slowly didn’t make his destination any less inevitable.

            He pawed at the lapels of his shirt, unable to remember a time in his life he’d felt quite this much like melting into a puddle of nerves. Which was unfortunate, really. After all, he worked in a competitive business, where aggression was key to success; as a result, he’d made a few mistakes over his five years with the company. But who hadn’t? All the greats had to take their risks and the knocks that came with it.

            But this time, he just may have cooked his goose, without any professional recourse to get out of it. Blowing the McConnell deal the way he did two weeks before was unabashed and foolish in hindsight; there was no one else to blame but himself and his occasionally untethered ambition. It had taken him a long time even to claw his way to his current position, and that took a certain amount of give and take. That, he decided, was what he’d have to tell Perkins.

            Ms. Barbara Perkins, the owner of the company and effectively his entire future career, now that he’d been called up to meet her to discuss his recent failing and the resulting consequences of his actions. He’d heard ghost stories of other employees who made similar slip-ups, sometimes not even as serious as his, who’d all been forced into a meeting with the thirty-five-year-old brunette wunderkind of a woman who’d made herself queen of the castle within ten years of working here. Only four years older than Brent, but more successful than he could ever even daydream of achieving. Those employees who came to see her for disciplinary action were evidently often fired, their names never coming up again in industry conversation.

            Brent hoped he wasn’t sweating too visibly. He hoped against hope that Ms. Perkins could see reason and the same fate didn’t await him as his predecessors, whatever had become of them. All it took was rationality and a touch of charm, right? Before he could knock on the door, a voice chimed in loudly from beyond.

            “It’s open,” Ms. Perkins called. “Come in, Mr. Tucker.”

            He swallowed a softball-sized lump in his throat and entered her room. The floor-length windows overlooking  the bustled cityscape, not to mention the black-tiled, expansive floor space, made the walk from the door to Ms. Perkins’ desk arduous like nothing else in his life before.

            “Maybe I should just… take a seat, ma’am?” Brent asked, hoping to come out of the gate with his assertive side displayed. Though he’d yet to meet the woman one-on-one, he’d heard plenty of rumors that Ms. Perkins didn’t tolerate quitters in any facet of life. Whatever that meant. How many facets could there be?

            “I don’t think that will be necessary, Mr. Tucker,” Ms. Perkins declared. The dark-haired tycoon leaned back in her high-arched leather swivel chair behind the mahogany desk. Her manicured index finger gingerly tapped her chin as she studied him with piercing chocolate-hued eyes. “You may recall, we’re only here to see that equal consequences are dealt for the recent lack of professionalism in your record.”

            Brent’s shoulders sunk. She didn’t even want him to sit; he was surely fired.

            “What you can do instead, Mr. Tucker, is come around to my side of the desk.”

            Cocking his eyebrow, the man twiddled his thumbs.

            “Excuse me?”

            “Over here, to my side of the desk. I’m certain your ears still work, even if your judgment is occasionally impaired when it comes to your job,” Ms. Perkins said. She didn’t need to snap, nor even snarl in her tone; the words stung plenty on their own. Her slender finger pointed imperiously to the floor.

            “All right,” Brent sighed, trudging slowly around the desk. What was the harm now? Maybe if he played this right, she at least wouldn’t write him a scathing performance review and blacklist him from the industry for good. “Ms. Perkins, ma’am… I’d just like you to know, I regret the decisions I made which may have cost the company money. I admit that fully. But I’d also like you to know-”

            “Your explanations and excuses aren’t necessary at this time, Mr. Tucker,” the woman intoned. She wasn’t even looking at him now, but rather rummaging with the drawer on the side of her desk. “Just stand here beside me. Today, if possible.”

            Silenced at last, Brent complied, and came to stand directly in front of his intimidating boss in her thigh-bearing skirt and calf-hugging nude nylons. This woman had the power to make or break his career, right here and now. It was vital he not slip up again in this conversation. Above all, he had to remain level-headed.

            It was at the precise moment of this decision that Brent was blinded by a flash of opalescent light from an unseen source in his boss’s hand, which seared his corneas. He gasped, covering his eyes, and stumbled forward. However, rather than falling directly over Ms. Perkins and her chair, he became lost in a tangle of fabric. He wasn’t so much falling as tumbling, his head swimming as he spun through the swishing cloth.

            Only upon landing on his back did the man register he was naked. And, as the tents of dark slack-colored fabric were pried away by a pair of enormous French-manicured tree trunks, he understood at last that he hadn’t fallen. He’d merely shrunken, straight down into the tunnel of his own clothes, and was now standing at a tiny fraction of his previous height in front of the looming, reclined visage of the beautiful and terrifying Ms. Perkins, now comparable in size to the very building where she was CEO.

            “Holy shit…” Brent breathed. He clutched his cheeks, confirming that was, in fact, not dreaming. Of course, he wasn’t. Clambering to his feet, he only succeeded in tripping backward on the uneven terrain of his discarded pants where they lay in a nest at the feet of his boss. “Holy shit!”

“Just remember to breathe regularly, Mr. Tucker. I assure you, a healthy equilibrium and normal intake of oxygen are your friends now,” Ms. Perkins explained with a professional tone, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. She still wasn’t looking at him, but fidgeting with the towering form of her right-side closed-toe, slingback black-leather heel.

            For just an instant, baser instinct took control. Brent stared with silent thirst up at the holy sight of Ms. Perkins’ French-tipped, sun-kissed foot emerging from the shoe, housed in the shimmering skin-tight length of her stocking. However, he was quickly snapped from his animalistic reverie at the sight of his boss’s giant hand, opened and casting a shadow over him as it neared.

            “Wait! Ms. Perkins, what’s… what’s going o-”

            “Believe me, this will become bearable the faster you get over the silly first-impression questions,” Ms. Perkins informed him curtly, with a hint of a sultry flair on the end of her syllables this time. With the UFO-mass of her enormous hand now bearing down on him for direct size comparison, Brent judged himself to be no larger than one inch in height.

            One measly inch.

            “N-No… please, don’t… don’t hurt me, I-”

            “Hurt you, Mr. Tucker?” Ms. Perkins asked, and a trace of a laugh escaped her lips. Her gigantic fingers curled provocatively within arm’s reach of him, her every digit nearly three times the length of his whole body. “What good would it do either of us, if you were simply disposed of, instead of what you’re here to do, which is receive the due consequences of your actions? Now come here.”

            Brent was helpless to resist as his naked body was collected between the warm, gridded pads of Ms. Perkins’ thumb and index finger. She didn’t have to pinch too tightly, yet in spite of his thrashing, her grip didn’t budge. His stomach churned as he was arced upside down through space for just an instant, before suddenly spying the dark, open mouth of the now-unoccupied slingback heel.

            “What are you doing?” he gawked fruitlessly as the woman’s enormous digits continued carrying him toward the wide hole. He squirmed like an upturned insect as Ms. Perkins lowered him directly into the slanted cavern of her shoe. Darkness and a stale, leather-tinged musk immediately overtook him as she at last released her employee on the well-worn sole.

            The CEO didn’t deign to answer this last question of Brent’s as she withdrew her fingers from the shoe and made adjustments far above, outside his view. This was all happening so fast, he could scarcely process it moment-to-moment. A giant “9” was emblazoned into the insole.

            Then Brent received perhaps the biggest curveball to his reality of all when he gazed up toward the light, only to see the glow blotted out by the massive, hulking volume of Ms. Perkins’ stocking-clad toes. This was a wet-nightmare, right? The man held his breath, horrified beyond belief, yet still haunted by a hint of subconscious lust at this sight he’d, admittedly, revisited in multiple dreams throughout his adolescence.

            Those meaty giant digits writhed, cloying against the taut fabric around them, as they fished down inside the dark and hit the slope. Try as he might to right himself upon the uneven hill of the heel sole, nothing could prepare Brent for the impact with Ms. Perkins’ toes. It was like being struck with five sand-logged punching bags at the same time, fronted as they were by delicate, feminine skin and the sleek padding of the nylon.

            A scream caught in the man’s throat as he tumbled backward and became instantly wedged beneath the ball of his giant boss’s foot. The plush weight of it rolled him from side to side for just an instant, like a pumice stone, driving him down against the grainy insole. It was all Brent could to do put up his hands and defend his head as the woman’s titanic sole inserted fully into its usual place, albeit with his tiny naked body sandwiched underneath. The strength of the musk in the limited air, earthy and repugnant, tripled.

            Muscles twitched in the underside of her high-arched foot. The expanse of her powerful, peachy ped was nearly beyond description; surely comparable to the floorplan of her office, relative to his one-inch height. The nylon fibers scratched his bare body. Brent was hopelessly lost underneath the sheer mass of her splayed sole, simultaneously brimming with marshmallowy flesh and flexed musculature behind the stocking net. He never imagined he could exist under something so heavy without bursting.

            “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Tucker,” Ms. Perkins boomed. Though her voice had to penetrate the closed-toed shoe, as well as the hefty obelisk of her huge foot, she had a piercing enough voice that its commanding tone could probably reach just about anyone. “You will be released at noon, at which point I trust you’ll have had some enriching time to think about your future at this company, and whether you want to have one at all.”

            Chilled to the bone, despite the overwhelming heat beneath Ms. Perkins’ mammoth foot, Brent lay still as a corpse. For two minutes, or perhaps twenty, he couldn’t say, he remained motionless. It was as if Ms. Perkins had created a coffin for him out of her admittedly sexy-as-hell broad-soled, nylon-adorned foot and its accompanying slingback which hugged her shapely ankles just so.

            What was he to do? What possible reaction could he have now?

            Shouting for help seemed stupid and out of the question. The only person who could conceivably hear him was the person who was currently wearing his naked, shrunken self in her heel. That wasn’t a person he wanted to be pissing off more than he already had.

            Currently, he was flattened out, his limbs spread, as if performing an inverted snow-angel into Ms. Perkins’ sole. And in a way, he was. The weight of her wrinkled flesh was settling down hard enough over him, like baking dough, that it didn’t seem impossible his body could actually leave an imprint in the fabric of her nylon. After he’d been instantaneously shrunken and tossed inside his boss’s shoe as easily as checking the weather, nothing was outside the realm of impossible now, as far as he was concerned.

After half an hour or so had stretched infinitely on, Brent noticed a change. Ms. Perkins’ foot had initially rested contentedly still atop his body. Now, her ped was no longer comatose. The sole so threateningly poised above Brent’s hapless frame gave way to rhythmic stretching and pulsing. Her arch deepened dramatically, briefly offering Brent a reprieve from the weight as the skin of her sole smoothed and firmed slightly, while the nylon pulled tighter over it.

            In this instant, the tiny man gulped a lungful of air in the blackness. Almost immediately he regretted a breath that large, as his airways were now filled with the muggy fog of Ms. Perkins’ ripe aroma, flavored with almond-suggestive sweat and marinated leather grit. He coughed, writhing meekly, and then only by the occasional cracks of light which spilled in from the edges did he realize the fallout of the sole flex was impending.

            The CEO’s sole scrunched inward on itself. Deep, pillowy creases formed in the hanging island of feminine flesh that was Ms. Perkins’ sole. Her pink skin seemed to swell by the second as it bore down harder against Brent. The meager air supply was flushed from his lungs as he was pancaked under his boss’s bulging foot. It felt like having mattresses laid atop his prone body in sequence, one after the other, until he was under a whole stack reached to the ceiling.

            And then the process started anew. Again and again, in and out, up and down, Ms. Perkins flexed idly. Probably hard at work at her desk, making a couple thousand bucks an hour with a few keystrokes on her computer. Odds were, she’d forgotten about him, judging by the organic and mindless toying of her foot. Meanwhile Brent, rather sick of all the novelty of experience this morning, suffered greatly.

            In fact, he was beginning to panic now. His breath hastened, causing him to huff the stenchy, unmoving air and nearly develop a high off it. How long had he been in here? An hour? Longer? What if noon never arrived, and instead he suffocated down here, just like he now suspected all the other misbehaving office drones did?

            Stretching for all he was worth, Brent made an effort to locate the curved instep of Ms. Perkins’ foot. Small a chance though it was, maybe he could crawl atop her ped and better his chances of survival. Yet even by leaning all his limbs in every direction and rotating his body with great concentration, Brent touched only yet more of the seemingly endless mass of the giant woman’s buttery sole and accompanying damp nylon. Crawling any further was out of the question; he was simply marooned beneath Ms. Perkins’ mighty foot like a sailor lost on the ocean.

            As the morning wore on, the glinting sunlight through those floor-length windows was beginning to take its toll on Ms. Perkins. Or rather, it was beginning to take its toll on Brent Tucker. He deduced the shifting light, because the once-scratchy and irritating material of the stockinged ceiling above him had turned moist in the meanwhile. Patches of salty wetness steadily appeared, squelched from the scrunched wrinkles of the enormous sole. All of them weighed ever-more down on Brent’s body.

            In time, the dampened nylon hung like wadded chewing gum over the shrunken nude man. Struggling against it was useless and expended energy he needed to conserve for taking controlled, disgusting breaths of Ms. Perkins’ fleshy air. Fresh, gummy beads of sweat were beginning to drop now from her skin, faster than they could be absorbed by the stocking. Several plunked through and sopped into Byron’s skin, turning his hands pruny, as if he’d spent too long in the bathtub. He would’ve recoiled if it wasn’t simultaneously intoxicating as all-get-out.

            Because perhaps the worst fact of this entire ordeal: worse, even, than the mere fact that he’d been shrunken and entrapped in his boss’s shoe beyond the reach of science or the law, was that Brent was really beginning to enjoy himself. At first he’d merely been titillated by the giant billboard-sized visage of Ms. Perkins’ foot. That titillation was temporarily put to rest, of course, when he discovered what she planned to do with him and survival kicked in.

            But now the curiosity and wonderment of having his most private desires fulfilled, albeit one-hundredfold, was returning to overpower the fear. And though Brent was being battered under the treacherous weight of his boss’s immense foot, cooking in the humid air and soggy basin of her sweat, he was ashamed to notice he was sporting a half-mast erection, only held back from reaching full rise due to the ever-present threat of having it squashed by Ms. Perkins’ bucking sole.

            Brent yelped with surprise as the weight of the woman’s sole yielded away from him in one forced sweep. Her foot was dragging itself out of the slingback heel. The sticky fibers of the nude nylon clung to his skin and nearly dragged Brent up too, if it weren’t for the equally-gooey insole of the shoe. Instead, he sagged from the fabric and rolled over in a tired, beet-red heap.

            He didn’t have to wait long before those giant thumb and index fingertips were curling around his legs. Before he could object or make a sound, he was dangled upside-down from the woman’s slender digits. Ms. Perkins’ plucked her inch-tall employee out of her shoe and lifted him high into the air. Wind made Brent’s miniature eyes water. When at last he came to a stop, he shivered with terror to realize he was hovering the equivalent of hundreds of feet in the air: suspended only by Ms. Perkins’ powerful fingers over the floor.

            “Well, would you look at that,” Ms. Perkins murmured. “It looks like you were right about the effect this might have on him, Larissa.” The pinky of her free hand rose into view and tapped lightly at Brent’s inverted form as he hung helplessly from her thumb. The bell-curve of her finger then grazed gently over the man’s regretfully excited member. He quivered at her taunting touch, desperately wanting it to return just as much as he desperately wanted to roll up and die from humiliation at this moment.

            Wait. Did she say Larissa?

            “I told you, Ms. Perkins!” a perky voice chimed in from somewhere unseen. “Seriously, if I had a dollar for every time I’ve caught Brent checking it out when I just happened to take off my shoes under the desk, I could probably be you by now!”

The staunchly serious Ms. Perkins observed the other, younger woman across the desk from her, then shook her head and laughed gracefully. Her fingers trembled around Brent’s legs with mirth, and he sincerely hoped a laugh wouldn’t be the cause of his death. Though he didn’t have to see the owner of that last joke, he knew precisely who was speaking to his boss.

            But at least this madness was over now. She said noon, after all.

            “Well, I daresay it was effective. So thank you for the suggestion. I admit, you’ve contributed far more to creative thinking and productivity around here than the average intern. Or even many of the… regular employees,” Ms. Perkins said, meaningfully eying Brent for an example. She turned her inch-high nude man around in her fingertips, observing him and furrowing her brow. “He appears largely undamaged, at least physically. Mentally and emotionally, however, who could say. Though sexually, he’s surely come out the other side with a different perspective on his fetishistic predilections.”

            The twenty-two-year-old intern across from Ms. Perkins giggled, cupping a hand over her lips, before idly twirling a finger through her fiery-red locks which reached down to her shoulders. As Brent spun around, the gigantic young woman’s green eyes caught his and flashed him a grin of absolute victory. It made the man’s stomach spin worse than his current physical position.

            “As I promised, then,” Ms. Perkins said. She arched her hand across the desk and toward, Brent realized, Larissa’s creamy, upturned palm: waiting for him. “I’m off to a lunch meeting. I’ll be back in an hour. Until then, perhaps you can impart some of your newer energy and work ethic upon Mr. Tucker here.”

            “No problem, Ms. Perkins!” Larissa said brightly. Greedily, she accepted the tiny naked Brent into her palm and quickly closed her lithe fingers over him, sealing him in her fist.

            Five minutes passed as Larissa coolly strode back to the elevator and returned to the floor where the other drones and interns worked. Her sensible flats clacked quietly on the tile with every step.

            Meanwhile, Brent was left in a fresh panic within the confines of the young intern’s closed hand. Didn’t Ms. Perkins say noon was when he was free? Didn’t she? Or perhaps she’d only said he would be released: as in, come out briefly, only to go back in the dark again. He minced, kicking himself for having hope.

            Why did he have to stare at Larissa so much? Why couldn’t he just be like everyone else and slip an occasional peek at the hot, supple intern? Was it so unavoidable that he had to gawk like an idiot whenever she pried those adorable blue flats away from her pale, shapely feet and let her toes dance on the carpet? Evidently, yes.

            When Larissa’s giant hand opened once again, Brent only had a flash of her still-smirking face above before he tumbled off the ends of her soft fingers and plunked hard against the velvety floor of what he realized was her insole even before he’d lifted his head to look around in simultaneous dismay and arousal.

            “Well, well, well… would it be corny to do a “the shoe is on the other foot” joke?” Larissa snickered as she loomed above and drank in the sight of her technical superior imprisoned in her blue flat. “Actually, maybe a better one would be: walk a mile in my shoes. Yeah, let’s go with that.”

            “Larissa…” Brent called out. “I’m… sorry if I gave you the impression I was… thinking, or doing something inappropriate, but I promise you, this is all just a colossal misunderstanding, and I-”

            “Mmmm, I don’t think so, shrimp. But nice try,” Larissa interrupted loudly with another burst of laughter. Her finger still swirled through her ginger tresses. For the second time today, Brent’s attempt at logical explanation was cut off. “Really, I think you just ought to take this whole thing as a lesson. You might think girls just catch creeps like you were when you’re checking out our tits or asses, but it’s not true. We know about people like you, who want the weird stuff. Well, I hope you’re ready for it, cuz you’re gonna get it. Asshole.”

            Defeated, Brent watched overhead. The meteoric mass of Larissa’s petite bare foot rose up, the office lights glinting off the wrinkles of her white sole and the baby-blue nail polish on her toes. Then it descended all at once. With considerable less practice and gentility than Ms. Perkins’ still-rough landing, Larissa’s lithe size-six foot bulldozed Brent’s inch-tall body deeper into the flat.

            The shoe was much shallower than the CEO’s cave-like slingback. Brent slammed into the thankfully cushioned toe-tip of the blue flat he’d spent so many lazy afternoons in the office watching be removed then reapplied over and over to the youthful intern’s lovely foot. He just never dreamed that he’d get such a close look. Nor that he’d ever find the truck-sized length of Larissa’s vengeful foot squeezing inside the shoe at the same time and pinning his body to the wall.

            Though Larissa’s foot was noticeably smaller than Ms. Perkins’, when he stood at half the size of a human thumb, the hapless office worker couldn’t much appreciate the difference. Especially with how obviously eager Larissa was to get him between her toes. Brent squirmed out of habit for just an instant, but was easily pushed into submission by the girl’s grasping digits and wedged amidst her big and second toes.

            Brent lurched forward, forced onto his knees. Effectively, he was made to kneel with his head bowed, while Larissa happily clenched his upper torso and head in the fleshy vice of her pale, plucky toes. The harder she squeezed, the lower his head was dipped, until Brent’s face was pressed flush against the doughy block of Larissa’s toe crevice. Even craning his neck away wasn’t enough to combat the muscular tug of the girl’s twin digits colliding ever-tighter around him.

Huffing just to take in regular breath, Brent was pleased to note that at least Larissa’s feet, while still scented with the inevitable spice of day sweat, were primarily flavored by a cloud of melon lotion. With his nose and lips forced down on Larissa’s toe cleavage, it was impossible to deny how sweet her feet in fact were. He couldn’t have hoped for better as he watched her from the opposite cubicle when he thought she wasn’t looking.

            His member was throbbing now between his legs. Unable to help himself, Brent planted a soft kiss on Larissa’s skin. Breathlessly, he waited for a reaction. When none came, he allowed himself a gentle lick around the curvature of her crevice. It was wonderful, and tasted of fruit and human musk. Larissa’s toes were clenched so tightly around him now, he was practically hugged down into the squishy underside of her foot.

            God, what was he doing? Trying to dig his own grave even deeper? After that first taste, Brent didn’t allow himself any more acts that might put him in greater trouble. At least it seemed she didn’t notice it. He simply lived out the lunch hour, his body in a head-spinning vice of pudgy toe flesh, listening to passerby stalk obliviously by on the carpet behind Larissa’s carpet. With every thunderous pair of passing loafers and high heels, Brent wondered what they might think of him if Larissa were to choose this moment to slide her foot out into the open and reveal she had a naked, inch-tall, slobbering, and fully erect office-superior clenched between her toes like a fly in a web.

            Sickeningly, he felt himself ripple with goose bumps at the very thought. How typical.

            Up above, through the thin fabric of Larissa’s flat, he could hear her polishing off a crunchy apple and tapping away at her keyboard. He sincerely hoped she hadn’t seen fit to snap any photos of the lump in her shoe during this period for uploading to her social media. Not that he didn’t probably deserve it. He’d technically licked a twenty-two-year-old intern on the foot now, after all.

            After precisely fifty-eight minutes, Larissa’s toes relented their grip and seemed to unmold their firm, flushed-pink shape from around Brent’s head and back into the petite geometry he recognized from afar. Only briefly, though, as she was only adjusting; her digits sprang forward again and gripped him in the crevasse of her toes, lifting her entire foot along with the inch-tall man out of the flat.

            For a fleeting instant, Brent’s heart raced as his naked body was dangled upside-down from the intern’s playful foot, her sole exposed to the cubicle entrance. By the grace of the universe, though, nobody walked by in the interim to catch a glimpse.

            Hardly paying attention, the giant redhead arched her leg just high enough with balletic precision that she could pluck him out of her pale, ensnared toes with her fingers. Thus collected back into the girl’s fist, Brent waited out another ambling march to the elevator and up to Ms. Perkins’ office.

            Though he could hear muffled voices through the tight prison cell of Larissa’s soft palm, Brent wasn’t certain he was back in the CEO’s office until his whistleblower opened her fingers up again to allow him some fresh air. He savored the last remnants of the melon-lotion smell emanating from her skin as he found himself staring into the enormous, dark eyes of Ms. Perkins again.

            “Thank you for taking a shift with him for me, Larissa,” the boss said, brushing her bangs out of her eyes for a better look at the beleaguered man in the girl’s palm. “Why don’t you go ahead and take the rest of the day off, if you like. Don’t worry about logging your hours; I’ll put a note in for payroll.”

            “Really? Thank you, Ms. Perkins!” the girl said spritely. “Guess I owe you a thank you, Brent, don’t I?”

            “Or more likely, he owes you one,” Ms. Perkins said with a sly smile. Her fingers opened and plucked up Brent in her soft talon. “I doubt he would’ve enjoyed accompanying me to the lunch appointment instead of staying with you. The streets are baking at this time of day, especially in the summer.”

            “I guess that’s true,” Larissa said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll get another chance to thank me sometime. See you tomorrow, Ms. Perkins!”

            As his giant boss tipped him over in her palm, Brent witnessed the redheaded giantess wave one last time and disappear through the door. Only as he crawled to the end of the woman’s outstretched fingers for a gut-stinging peek over the side did he notice that Ms. Perkins was only wearing one nude nylon; the other was draped over her bare knee, while the toes of her naked foot drummed on the floor far below.

            “You see, Mr. Tucker,” Ms. Perkins drawled. She pinched him around his chest and shoulder blades between her index and thumb yet again, and slowly airlifted the despondent Brent toward her lap. “My initial plan was to see how things were going after lunch, and reconsider whether I’d simply let you off for the day and return your size to you.”

            “Y-Yeah?” he peeped, unsure whether she heard him.

            “But of course, judging by your obviously still-flowing testosterone…” Ms. Perkins said, flicking her pinky finger over Brent’s erection and nearly causing him to moan, “…not to mention a curious text I received from Larissa suggesting she felt you… sampling her toes as she imparted your professional consequences… it’s clear to me that a little longer yet is required.”

            Brent nodded glumly from his boss’s fingers, though it was becoming harder as the day wore on to discern whether he was actually disappointed or just worried how he was going to hide his boner next. It seemed his animal whims were coming back to bite him now.

            “However, in the interest of not allowing you to slip into the luxury of boredom, we’ll be using a different arrangement for your next disciplinary session,” she said. Ms. Perkins drew up her discarded nude stocking in her fingers, separating the opening mouth with her spread digits. Brent was made to hang over the cloth portal in orbit. “So perhaps the lesson will sink in this time. After all that time in solitude, I’m sure you’ll have some very constructive ideas going forward for the future of your career.”

With this last proclamation, the fingers holding Brent up in midair fell away. He, in turn, careened end-over-end down the long, soft-beige tunnel. The fall was broken as the buoyant walls winnowed him down into the spongy tip of the downy fabric. The familiar scented returned as Brent became tangled in the toe section, flavored by the moisture and fustiness of a day with busy feet entombed.

            “Oh, and I forgot to mention, Mr. Tucker,” Ms. Perkins said as she stared at him dangled inside the stocking. “I have a boardroom meeting in seven minutes or so, and I’d sincerely appreciate you doing your best to keep me comfortable. It will be difficult, but do your best to keep moving and break down my knots. Do a good enough job, and perhaps we can forget the indiscretion in that innocent young intern’s shoe?”

            Brent watched with equal parts resignation and sensuous curiosity the sight of Ms. Perkin’s naked foot eating up the tight real estate of the stocking. After all the insanity of this day, really, his current situation was almost expected. Though the tunnel folded in on itself while empty, the bulk of her tanned, sculpted calf and lower thigh easily filled in the length. When Brent’s bare body met with the eagerly spread, leather-scented toes of his boss for the first time with no encumbering fabric between, and he recalled how short his oxygen and rationale were during the last session with Perkins, he now leaned much more heavily toward anxiety.

            For a few clumsy seconds, Brent was juggled between Ms. Perkins’ beefy toes, considerably more dexterous than the petite digits of Larissa. She wasn’t content to simply squeeze him between two toes, but passed him along beneath each of them, creating a sarcophagus of stale flesh as she hugged him lengthwise into the row of all five toes. Her fingers bunched up from the other side of the nylon, pushing and prodding him about, until he was pinned underneath the ball of her foot again where she wanted, with his still-erect member incriminating him up against the taut stocking.

            “Sometimes, I swear. You just can’t train a good employee in one day,” Ms. Perkins sighed loudly as she shoved her nude nyloned foot, and Brent along with it, back into the voluptuous leather slingback heel. As her ped ground him down along the sticky insole once again, he was rolled hard further along her arch, until he was strategically planted in the center of her sun-tanned, sweat-swollen, self-heating sole. Just where he’d been before.

            Except with the obvious difference that he was now tangled inside the stocking, restricted from any movement beyond the little twitching he could offer to massage Ms. Perkins and hope she let him off the hook for thinking about fucking a giant twenty-something’s toes. It was like he was bound directly to his boss’s enormous appendage by lashes.

            And as much as he hated himself for it, it was all he wanted now.

            True to her word, Ms. Perkins had a meeting to attend. The trip there was short but rocky to say the least, as Brent had yet to actually be walked upon. He could tell the woman was taking cares not to actively trounce him down, for fear of popping him like a roach. Though, it was more than likely she simply wanted him intact so he could effectively rub her sole while she aggressively mashed him into her damp nylon until his body became one with the fabric.

            Fresh air seemed to run out even faster this time than in the morning. Every gulp was the rich, refined flavor of flowers and vinegar indigenous to the woman’s mealy nylons and foot. Ms. Perkins took her seat at the head of the conference room table, or at least Brent suspected she had; he heard alien voices, probably the aforementioned board members and any other stock holders or higher-ups he had no business being in a meeting with.

            Technically he wasn’t “in” the meeting, he was “in” the titanic CEO’s wet stocking. But same difference, really. This, he supposed, based on his current professional trajectory, was the only real chance he’d actually have to be in a boardroom meeting. By living in the shoe of one of the actually important people, everyone else unaware of his existence, and doing his best to feebly caress her tired skin while he cooked in her steamy musk and summertime excretions. Considering his insatiable fetish for beautiful feet and, evidently, the powerful mega-women who owned them, was this truly so horrible a compromise?

            In this case, Brent was beginning to realize, it just might be.

            By the halfway mark of the meeting, Ms. Perkins had obviously grown restless. Sweat streaked in trails down the side of her ped. Her ankle was crossed over her opposite knee and her sole was in full flexing force, continually smashing Brent down into the base, only to cup away and let him be sucked back up against the tightening force of her nylon.

            He did his best to follow her instructions: after managing to turn himself back around, the man scratched and pulled for all he was worth at the giant wrinkles as they continually blossomed and smoothed in the wall of feminine flesh. He even got his knees in on the action, as much as possible, ramming his limbs into her appendage and just hoping something worked; at one inch tall, it was unlikely anything less than his most concerted effort would do more than tickle.

            At one point, as Ms. Perkin’s foot crested back over her knee, Brent felt the shoe behind his back coming loose. The sound of thumping fingers on the outside told him the woman was pulling on her footwear. Could she actually be doing what he thought she might be?

            His heart fluttered with terror at being discovered by yet more onlookers, even as the prospect of a clean swallow of oxygen warmed his core.

            Light streamed into the hovel and momentarily blinded Brent where he was glued in the compression of sole and insole. A long finger, full of promise and potential for malice, appeared. He tensed up, preparing to be scooped up lengthwise, his shrunken naked form displayed to the rest of the boardroom before he was jammed back inside. Which, when he thought about it, had its perks; fresh air was sounding pretty heavenly right now.

            But her eyes didn’t meet his. Instead, Ms. Perkins simply pressed her fingertip into the pliable flesh of her instep and began to scratch. Her white-tipped fingernail casually arced along the sloped angle of her arch, relieving herself of an itch. The simple act rubbed the stocking every which way, rattling her reduced prisoner.

            Brent grasped the fibers of the nylon and clawed his way closer to the light, with his tiny face pressed up against the nude fabric. He wasn’t sure what it was he intended in doing so; even if tainted through the soggy filter of the stocking, all he wanted was some air.

            Ms. Perkins glanced down toward her lap, catching his eye down in the shoe. Her expression didn’t change, so as not to arouse suspicion in the room, he guessed. What could she possibly say? Rather, a subtle approximation of a Mona Lisa smile curved into her lips. Finished scratching her itch, the woman’s powerful digit curled in and then ever so gently pushed directly into Brent’s shrunken face. The strength of her fingertip easily dislodged Brent’s grip and caused him to slide backward and become adhered to his boss’s foot again, his helpless cock swallowed in a velvety sole wrinkle just as Ms. Perkins paid him a final glance and shoved her foot cleanly back into its slingback.

            Sweat audibly squelched and sprayed as Brent was sealed back in the airless tomb of Ms. Perkins’ perfect, godlike sole and the worn-down altar of the leather insole. The stocking tightened back around him, bending his body to the muscular whim of the woman’s arching foot. Cringing with all his might, and regretting every insanely-pleasurable instant, Brent couldn’t help but orgasm amidst the uncaring darkness of Ms. Perkins’ purgatory while a perfectly average boardroom took place above.

            Time became an indeterminable dimension as the boardroom meeting came to a close and Brent endured another brisk jaunt from the conference room back to Ms. Perkins’ palatial office. The afternoon slowed to a crawl. However long it was here was there, he didn’t fully realize the consequences of his screwing up the McConnell deal and perving on Larissa had at least reached a conclusion. At least until he was being literally peeled away like a smashed insect by giant fingers from Ms. Perkins’ damp sole. Happily (he was pretty sure), he was still alive and intact.

            No words were exchanged as the CEO delicately plopped Brent back on the floor, where his pre-shrunken business attire was waiting for him, right where he’d left it and she’d shrunken it to fit him now. The man lay dumbfounded upon his belongings and watched the alluring, silent fireworks display of Ms. Perkins artfully dressing her nude stockings over her endless leg and gorgeous foot, though she didn’t yet slide it inside her slingback. Instead she crossed her leg over the opposite and let her nyloned sole hover precariously above little Brent and his clothes.

            “Well, Mr. Tucker,” Ms. Perkins sighed, resting her chin on her fingers. Her sole scrunched. “I do hope you’ve learned some lesson today, small though it may have been. I must admit, you’re slower to develop as an ideal employee than have some of your predecessors who underwent similar consequences for poor business decisions. Nevertheless, I see potential in you, and have decided that you will have a future at this company. I will not tolerate quitters, as I’m sure you’ve heard, and though you’re flawed, Mr. Tucker, I do not judge you to be a quitter. I hope you prove me right.”

            Brent nodded blankly. He didn’t really stop to consider whether he actually wanted that, after what he’d gone through today. It was just a foregone conclusion when spoken by someone as imperious as Ms. Perkins, especially when the brunette titaness sat above him, lording the casual threat of her dangled nylon foot over his naked inch-tall self.

            Still, he’d worked hard to get here. He was a go-getter and skilled at his job, except with that last assignment. There was no way he could endure all of today and let the time spent go to waste, could he? Such a conclusion to this sordid day would be the most depressing realization of all. At least the craziness was over. He could stew over what had transpired today for years to come, likely feeling inadequate at times and likely masturbating to the memory of it at others, but he was done.

            “So, go ahead and get yourself dressed again, and I’ll regrow you,” Ms. Perkins said. She separated her toes and squinted, spying Brent’s puny head from between the separated digits and through the film of her stocking. A genuine smile formed on her lips this time. “After all, you’ll likely need a good night’s rest before we continue your re-education in proper business practice tomorrow. Spending the day with you has given me several ideas I’d like to test-run, which I think you’ll find most scintillating while I’m on conference calls.”

            “Excuse me?” Brent coughed.