While working in retail was its own special kind of hell, Maddie was thankful that—at the very least—she could live so close by.

In fact, she lived in the same building.

After they had built the The Shoppes, her parents wanted to set her up in her own place there.  Something about “the independence of adulthood in a safer setting than some random apartment complex.”

Her parents had always been this way. Fabulously wealthy enough to get her a shared, furnished apartment in The Shoppes, above the retail stores, but insistent that she work part time to compensate. They probably thought they were teaching her life lessons, but really, Madeline would have preferred the shitty apartment on the edge of town if it meant getting out from under their thumb.

Still, it wasn’t a bad setup. After walking past two or three stores, the apartment entrance was easy enough to access. She shoved a hand in her purse and fiddled around for the card to scan. After brushing past what felt like some dirt (she’d need to clean it out later, certainly), she pulled out the card and scanned into the building.

After a quick ride in the elevator, she was able to swipe the card again at her door and slip inside—slotting the card back into her wallet as she did so.

Thirty minutes, she thought to herself. At least I have a half hour to relax.

She stomped her way over to the kitchen and pulled open a few cabinets before finding her favorite chips. Without further thought, she dumped them into a nearby bowl and moved into the living room.

She landed on the couch with a plop and kicked off her boots. Her two bare feet crossed at the ankles and landed on her end table. She pulled the bowl into her lap, set her purse on the table by her feet, and grabbed the remote.

She had just enough time to squeeze in another episode of her favorite show before heading back down, and she intended to enjoy herself in the meantime.

***

Inside the purse, the world was chaos for Noah.

The constant jostling of the purse back and forth made it absolutely impossible to stand, so instead, Noah laid down on the bottom of the purse and tried to ride out the waves.

All around him, coins jingled, cards bumped into each other, and nothing seemed to sit still.

Despite it all, Noah was on cloud nine.

For the past few hours, he had been nothing more than a bug to be smooshed into the floor. Some stain to wipe off the floor. Trash to be crushed.

At least now, in this purse, things could stay stagnant. If only for a bit.

Noah closed his eyes for a moment, thinking.

She’ll put her purse down, and I’ll climb out. She’ll go back to work, and I’ll have the apartment to myself. At least, I hope so. Does she live with someone?

He tried to think on it further, but the massive hand plunging into the purse shook him from his trance.

Madeline’s perfectly manicured hand was no less than a wrecking ball from his perspective. Far above him, he had to crane his neck to see as it pushed around cards, flicked away coins, and pressed into things—feeling around for something, anything.

It kept moving deeper, deeper into the purse, before finally, her fingertips were right on top of him.

Noah was helpless as they crashed into the bottom of the purse on either side of him. Fingertips the size of cars brushed all around him.

Her middle finger pressed against him first—sliding him against the floor of the purse before finally pressing him against a wide, white card.

Noah screamed as the Madeline’s soft skin enveloped him, as her finger flattened and pressed the card—with him in between. He could feel his ribs bending and cracking under the pressure.

Just as he felt as if he was going to pop, the finger slid sideways—still pressing against his form. He was rolled against the card and all sense of direction faded as he was flattened, chest over back over chest against the card. Finally, the fingertip had rolled him past it’s edge, and he collapsed to the floor of the purse in a heap.

The fingertips then wrapped around the card, raising it up and out of the purse.

He had been rubbed off of it like common dirt.

Exhausted, and broken, he faded out, and it all went black…

…

…when he awoke, all of the movement seemed to hold still.

His sore and broken body rose up from the bottom of the purse. His legs were inflamed and red—still covered in gum residue and smashed remains from the bottom of Maddie’s boot.

His arms were similarly bruised. He had a deep gash along his left shoulder that oozed.

His head was throbbing, and he felt bumps forming along his forehead and the back of his skull.

In his deepest fantasies, he had imagined being as small and as helpless as he was now. He envisioned Madeline staring down at his tiny form, before unceremoniously snuffing out his life underfoot.

It was a lovely fantasy.

In reality, surviving this small was proving to be anything but.

She’ll put her purse down, and I’ll climb out, he thought again. She’ll go back to work, and I’ll have the apartment to myself.

Noah repeated these thoughts in his head like a mantra as he began to scale the deep walls of the purse. He grimaced through the pain as he ascended an inner zipper like it was a ladder.

She’ll go back to work, and I’ll have the apartment to myself.

He climbed on top of a tampon, which led him to the top of a coin purse. Only a few more feet to go.

I’ll have the apartment to myself.

The top of the coin purse let to a comb. It’s thick teeth let him climb higher. He could almost taste the top of the purse.

I’ll have the apartment to myself.

I’ll have it to myself.

I’ll survive.

Whatever it takes.

With a final heave, Noah pulled himself out of the top zipper of the purse and flipped on top of it, onto his back, panting.

It was going to be a long road ahead, but goddamn it—he was going to try.

After catching his breath, Noah began to look around.

He was in a living room—with towering white walls and simple art pieces lining them. On one side of the room was a flat-screen television mounted atop an entertainment stand. To it’s left, two doors leading deeper into the apartment.

To its right, the bar of the kitchen nearby, and beyond it, the front door.  

Noah turned and almost jumped in shock at what was behind him.

Two massive, pink soles rose up from the end table, far above his small form on top of the purse. In the gap between the truly gigantic feet, he could see Madeline chomping away at a bowl of chips. Two windows stood on either side of the couch, letting in natural light.

Now face-to-face with these two large, pink soles, the pungent, somewhat sweet smell of her feet began to waft over to him. He felt his pants tighten at the sight of them.

In his fantasies, this view—this position—was always what he had imagined. Subservient. Beneath notice.

He was far too distant to be seen by Madeline—not that she was looking anyways. Her eyes were glued to the screen. She seemed frozen, engrossed in her television show.

Noah’s heart beat faster and faster. His face flushed red.

If this was going to be the end of him, this might be his only chance to do this.

He dropped his pants.

***

He collapsed in a sweaty heap on top of the purse—the overwhelming orgasm sending him to the floor. He came so hard, he could see his seed dripping down the arch of Madeline’s right foot.

Of course, she hadn’t so much as reacted.

At least I got to do that, he thought to himself.

With his libido satiated, his thoughts turned once again to survival. He needed off this purse, and fast, but from his height, he was over a hundred feet to the surface of the table. Jumping from this height would surely kill him.

But as fate would have it, he would not need to.

Suddenly, the feet that had obscured Madeline from Noah disappeared as she lowered her feet back to the floor. The sudden gust of wind blew past him and threatened to suck him off of the top of the purse. Madeline almost threw her half-eaten bowl of chips onto the table. Like watching a ship crash against the shores of a beach, Noah was helpless as the bowl crashed into the side of the purse, knocking him off, sending him tumbling down into the bowl.

He landed crudely on top of a tortilla chip—its surface cracking but not breaking under his weight.

He looked up to see the ceiling of the apartment slowly disappear behind the bottom of Madeline’s head and breasts. She had set her bowl down and was leaning over it—engrossed in her show.

Her beautiful hand once again came into view, plunging down towards him for more chips.

His sweet relief was over.