Melissa found herself eyeing down Serena, taking in her pencil skirt, which flowed over her bare legs, down to her own footwear. Serena wore a pair of open-toed mules, colored a deep brown. Five toes peered through each, their nails colored a soft pink. Thick, ridged heels propped the ends of her feet up, adding a few (giant) inches to the comparatively short woman, although it was not enough to see eye-to-eye with her boss.

As she glared at her feet, Melissa felt her brow furrowing, and her heartbeat accelerate. One of the hands at her side began clenching into a fist.

“Serena, look at the pedal.”

Melissa veered out of the way, allowing her secretary a clear vantage. A gasp squeaked out of the nervous woman as her gaze fell upon the battered form of Dylan strapped against the foot mouse.

“T-there's a man on there!” she most poignantly noticed.

“He's our technician, this was the only way to make sure the machines functions properly.” Melissa explained.

A shadow fell over her eyes. “As you can see, such an activity has tested him. I will allow you to use the machine if he feels up to it. If not, you will have to exercise patience until a more permanent solution is found.”

Her icy gaze fell upon her spent husband, still straining from the residual effects of the gauntlet of pain and pleasure he had suffered. Dylan tested his aching joints, and was aware of one or two ribs that were not intact. His breath was pained, while his lungs still felt as if they were compressed.

There was every reason to refuse. The words were at the tip of his tongue. Yet, when he felt himself under his wife’s glare, staring up at her imposing form with a stature that could scrape the sky itself, he felt his throat go dry, and catch whatever he had to say. From her cold, piercing glare, to her ominous dark, yet sharp manner of dress, she embodied the very authority of a mighty executive; the master of his puny life.

Something within his trousers began to stir once more.

“I can handle it, don’t worry.”

Melissa did her best to not betray any shock. She wished to reprimand him right there, to shut down this suicidal undertaking he had committed himself to. But, it would be his word, the man who operated the machine, who bore all the pain for the sake of her company, against her own.

“Don't make me come back to a red puddle.” she ordered, drawing close to her secretary. She allowed her superior height to give weight to her words, “You will be fired if so, not to mention legal charges.”

A wad of spittle was subsequently swallowed by the nervous woman.

“Yes ma’am.”

The executive placed a hand on her hip, “I have other duties to administer to. I will be back to assess the machine, and our technician.”

She entered a brisk walk, towards the exit. Upon placing her hand on the door handle, she peered back over her shoulder, watching Serena man the machine. She allowed doubt to cloud her sure glare, before pulling the door open.

Serena’s a good girl. Dylan will be fine. At least, he better be.

As the secretary stood in front of the machine, memorizing the already occupied screen, she muttered to her self, “Okay, okay, don't mess up.”

Stout fingers moved quickly across the keyboard, sending rhythmic taps echoing around the room. Her efforts required her to close and open windows, and thus, the bottom of her mule was brought to bear against the mouse pedal.

From Dylan’s vantage, while he considered his wife a most voluptuous creature, it was clear the woman standing above him now proved far more endowed than his beloved. Smooth calves with little blemish bulged out with a softness that he could have sunk into without a trace. Her skirt could not hide her thighs, massive destroyers that could serve as a landscape in of themselves. Notably, the secretary had not considered that men of Dylan’s stature were advantaged as such in the ways of unwanted observation, which was why he could behold a stripped strip of cloth that provided just the barest sense of modesty.

Luckily, the technician needed not to shield his eyes, for the shadow of Serena’s mule proved sufficient. He could not detect any notable tread on the bottom. All he could view was a thick sole which gave a sufficient platform for her feet to be elevated upon.

Soon, all light had been blocked out. Her sole was the entire ceiling, stretching beyond infinity. As the great plain of her mule fell upon him, Dylan could only brace himself.

Her first effort was clumsy. Initially, her mule pummeled Dylan into the padding, stealing all of his breath away. Notably, however, after a few seconds, Serena let up, as if she just remembered what exactly she was doing when she pressed the pedal. Her sole appeared to be made of a softer material. Compared to his wife’s unyielding stiletto, even at her worst, Serena’s earth-shattering mass proved more bearable.

That being said, Serena did not exercise as much restraint as her boss when operating the machine. Her trained motions fell upon Dylan in an unrelenting manner, as if instinct and routine had overridden her sense of caution.

In between agonizing presses, Dylan found a chance to squeak out, “Ma'am, you’re pressing-”

Immediately, the secretary shrank back, “Oh! Sorry I'm sor-”

Yet, her bespectacled eyes caught sight of something most peculiar. While the diminutive man’s clothes had become wrinkled and ragged, a suspicious stain sat within the middle of his pants. Clear as day, lay the dark spot, revealed by the enhanced giantess eye.

A nervous finger extended, “Eh .. you had a little...”

The technician gave out a surprised, “Oh!”

Under a gaze straight from the sky, he sought to avoid any form of eye contact, as he justified, “Uh, I might need a bathroom break.”

A nervous chuckle punctuated the tall tale from the mouth of the short man.

“Is that so?” inquired the secretary. Dylan had noticed her tone lost some of its nervous inflection. In fact, there appeared to be very little inflection within her voice, as if the words themselves were as contrived as his explanation.

Serena lifted her foot once more, her mighty mule blocking out all fluorescent illumination from the ceiling high above. Yet, the descent of her monolithic footwear proved far more deliberate. Dylan wondered if a great alien craft landing upon the unexplored Earth would grant a similar impression. Surely, such a paltry expression of superior extraterrestrial technology would lack the sheer power and scale that this mere secretary’s mighty foot possessed.

As the tread made contact with him again, Dylan was not forced into the confines of the pedals cushioning as before. Indeed, while he could sense the infinite mass trapped behind the smooth terrain that caressed his tired form, a sense of restraint prevented her weight from being fully brought to bear upon him. The mule began moving across his body, the material of its sole rubbing up against his face, tussling his hair and kneading his clothes. In a way, it was as if the leviathan of a work shoe was massaging him.

Under her mule’s tender trample, Dylan realized that one part of his body remained uncomfortably active.

“Do you like it?”

The secretary’s voice was completely unlike that of what came before. It was tainted with seductive nectar, almost in the same manner of honey that his wife loved to talk to him with. But there was an element, something evocative of a siren, or a forbidden tree in the garden of paradise, that provoked Dylan’s resistance.

“Is that why you came up with this?”

Serena’s eyelids had fallen halfway. Her lips were pursed, as if her maw was bragging of their luscious nature. Despite Dylan’s exhaustion, his heartbeat was rapidly accelerating. While nearly all of his limbs felt numb, he knew of at least one area where blood-flow was not an issue.

Blonde locks waved in the air as Dylan shook his head, “N-Wait!”

Down came Serena’s mule once more. Her heel was the first to impact the foam surface of the pedal, before the shoe rolled forward. The bottom of her mule advanced like an approaching wave, swallowing up the terrain before him. Soon, Dylan found his legs underneath her succulent pressure. Next was his waist, made all the more agonizing by his restless hormones. His torso, then his head soon followed, until he lay completely smothered by the secretary.

His wife’s spineless underling had completely captured him with nothing but her shoe.

Occasionally, she would allow him some semblance of relief. Her mule would agitate him with a light tap, light in that it would slam into him with the force of a truck, not like a locomotive had the woman showed less caution.

“My boss's mean feet must have been frighting!” Serena sympathized, “Here you poor thing, I'll take good care of you!”

At this point, her thoughts had completely betrayed her work. The secretary’s attention was now completely devoted to the man underneath her. A warm blush formed on her round cheeks. She brought a finger to her mouth, as her tender affections continued.

While the bottom of her shoes were of a synthetic, cold, soulless manufacture, Dylan could not help but be receptive. Most certainly, the plump feet that were housed within the mules, the size of a full sized house, were of indescribable warmth.

“You've been a real good boy,” Serena mused, “It must have been hard, getting mashed under our big scary shoes! I think you deserve a little reward.”

 “R-rewa-” Dylan squeaked.

Her mule was drawn away. Her leg then rose rapidly, allowing the open-toed workshoe to fly effortlessly off her extremity. Dylan’s eyes could now scrutinize ever fold, every tendon, each painted digit of Serena’s fully exposed foot.

Soon all he could see was the base of the imposing paw. The skin of Serena’s foot was unbelievably smooth. An artist could not have imagined such an idealized form of the human foot. Though he had not felt a single cell upon it, Dylan could imagine her tender flesh yielding against his very touch.

It was not long before all he could perceive was the flesh of her ped. His head turned away in anticipation. Upon his body, the skin of her foot made contact. True to his observations, he easily sunk into the oppressing digit. Its flesh conformed to every contour, sparing none of his own extremities.

The situation became far worse as her foot circled around, teasing his pathetic form.

Soon, her toe tapped against him, much in the manner she did with her mule moments earlier. Dylan wheezed in desperation, feeling the limits of his conviction weaken. As a familiar, intense feeling washed over him, guilt began to set it.

Dylan let out a squeak as he lost himself for the second time that day.

A warm smile spread across Serena’s face. She hummed to herself a most melodic tune, her voice almost ethereal. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, as the last document was readied for processing.

Her foot pressed down, her most tender attempt yet. There was a noticeable heat emanating from the diminutive shape of the young man. She was sporting a coy grin, which only grew wider as she noticed this.

So preoccupied was she with her work, both on the documents, and upon the technician, that the presence of another had gone completely unnoticed.

It was so, that Serena leapt into the air just a bit, as she heard the sharp voice of Alexia behind her.

“Alright Seri- hey, they got that dumb machine working haven't they?”

Slowly, the secretary turned round. Her raunchy confidence she had completely evaporated. Only the nervous shell that everyone else within the company had known her by remained.

“Oh! Uh, yeah,” she stammered, “I managed to uh - finish up over here.”

A toothy grin lightened Alexia’s face, “That's real good Ser. Say, why don't you keep that piece of junk open for me? I've got some documents of my own to submit.”

Serena began twiddling her thumbs, “Y-you said that you wouldn't need to until next week?”

“Yeah, but if I get em in early,” Alexia explained, “I can keep icy Messi off my ass. Now c'mon, I wanna get some good work in before the machine craps out again.”

Objections teetered on the edge of Serena’s lips, “Yeah, there's a- there's a-”

One of Alexia’s arms settled on Serena’s shoulders. Amber eyes glared down, commanding, but also caring in their nature, “Hey Ser- love ya, but gotta be honest, you're tying me down here. Why don't you loiter a bit outside and I'll join you once I'm done.”

Serena objected, “Bu-”

“Bye!”

Alexia waved Serena away. Her friend did not refuse her, and began sliding towards the exit. She had managed to retrieve her discarded mule, and expressed a hidden relief that the working woman never bothered to comment exactly on why she had taken off one shoe. The secretary found it hard to walk, for her heart, hidden behind her buxom torso, felt heavier than usual.

An amber glare was shot towards the cathode screen. Alexia bit her bottom lip as she set upon closing out of Serena’s opened windows. As there was nothing of consequence or interest, she sought to do this as quickly as possible.

Dylan had barely recovered, as he witnessed flared, gray briefs over a pair of slim legs march over to where Serena had just stood. Heeled sandals the color of burnt wood clacked upon the ground. Unlike Melissa’s crisp, snare-like rap, this new woman’s steps sounded scattered, unhinged. They were the very rhythm of chaos.

Sitting within her sandals were feet covered in tan colored stockings. The straps of the woman’s footware appeared to sink into the material.

There would be no reprieve or regard. As soon as she had made her way over, already her sandal veered over the pedal. Dylan was granted no time to shout, or even admire the narrow tread, as her foot slammed down upon him. It struck him in the manner of a hammer from the sky, vengeance sent by heaven itself. Already, he felt himself annihilated by the first press.

Alexia growled at the screen before her as she jammed her foot against the pedal again. The foot mouse indeed, was responding in a most peculiar way. She wondered if a stone from the outdoors had somehow wedged itself upon the padded surface. No further energy was spent deliberating upon this phenomenon, for the prospect of her work began consuming her.

“Fuck, forgot how slow this is!” she vented.

In an act of sheer frustration, she allowed her foot to kick the pedal. Dylan, still intact, but in immense pain, was bulldozed by the point of her toes. Spittle was ejected from his mouth. What followed was an agonized scream, an instinctual plea in response to the utter assault his body had endured.

Alexia narrowed her eyes, “Wha-”

She had perceived a high-pitched sound, something that could have not been produced by a machine. Most certainly, the piece of junk before her lacked the bitrate to simulate something that sounded so organic. Amber eyes peered under the desk, to the foot pedal she had enjoyed abusing so. A stray hand temporarily flicked away some of the heavy bangs obscuring one of her eyes, for she needed both to comprehend what she saw.

Crouching down, she inspected the small man who had found himself bound in such a position.

“Woah,” she voiced. A small smile began to creep across her face, “No, let me guess, you lost a bet?”

“No,” Dylan countered, “I'm-”

“Hush you little squirt,” interrupted the giantess, holding up a finger easily exceeding Dylan by three fold, “Let the big girl work this out... Oh wait, you pissed our lovely boss off haven't you?”

Emerald eyes widened, so much so that the far more immense woman that loomed above took notice.

Alexia was now smirking, “Well if there's anything I like, it’s rolling over you midgets. Can't say some of the ... *ahem* workplace accidents were enjoyable for the other party, but at least I had fun.”

Workplace accidents? The technician felt a lump in his throat. With the remaining strength in his battered limbs, he began to strain against his own bindings.

Alexia paid no heed to his struggles as she continued to muse, “And if I'm being endorsed from upstairs...”

She stood up straight. Her foot was brought forth once more, burying Dylan underneath her sandal. The foam material he laid upon at this point had been thoroughly abused, and thus, offered little relief from her assault.

“.. I guess I gotta give you exactly what you deserve!” the woman punctuated. Her eyes glowed, as if she drew a sort of esoteric power from the torment she inflicted.

Alexia’s labors continued. It was clear that she worked with a focused intensity. Every document she brought up elicited strong strokes across the keyboard that threatened to pop out its keys. Whenever the machine would pause on a task, one of her hands would slap the side of the monitor, despite the fact that no processing chips were installed anywhere near the display.

Dylan would bear the brunt of her excess. Unlike Melissa or Serena, who, even in their distracted states, would show a sort of deference to the well-being of the mouse pedal, Alexia appeared determined in every way to break it. Her heeled sandal would press into, and twist upon the surface. By extension, they would press into, and twist Dylan’s already fragile form.

The technician’s heavy jacket had begun to unravel and tear from her actions. At one point, Dylan experienced the bridge of his nose breaking. Sanguine liquid flowed down his nostrils and invaded his mouth, forcing him to cough. This appeared to elicit a form of reprieve from Alexia, as she glared down from on high.

Her face still wore a smirk, appearing to disregard her deliberate torments. Perhaps, more disturbingly, she even gave the impression she took pride in them.

Alexia scrutinized the bent, but not broken man. While he certainly occupied a man’s profession, his complexion and expression was much like that of a boy. He possessed bright wide eyes, thick curly hair, and even a smattering of freckles across his rounded cheeks. Indeed, even to someone such as her, she could feel her heartbeat accelerate just a tad.

“You're one tough cookie, you know that?” she observed.

Dylan could only cough in response.

“Dang, cutie too.” she continued, purring, “But since I aim to please, I'm just gonna have to mash you here.”

Her foot rose, as she angled her heel to implement maximum force. Alexia pondered the sensation her sandals would feel, mashing a man against a foam pedal. Most certainly, she mused the cleanup would not be easy. It would most certainly be an enticing experience, far more so than the other opportunities she could embrace such a lethal vocation.

“Wait! Please! Let me explain!” the insect begged.

The shadow of her heeled sandal overcame him, “Sorry, It's only business.”

Dylan’s voice grew shrill from sheer desperation, “I'm the technician! This was how I fixed the problem!”

The giantess rolled her eyes. “Sure, and I'm Leonardo Da Vinci! And if you're the whiz kid, you're lousy. The computer's still slow as hell!”

“It was the pedal, it malfunctioned!”

“Really, the stupid pedal again?” growled Alexia. Her foot still maintained its position over the hapless man, but her other had begun to wobble. “How original. Take it from a pro, if you're bullshitting, be less predictable.”

Rapid breaths accompanied wildy darting eyes, as Dylan searched for what next to say. Luckily, for his sake, such a process did not take long. As he chose his next words, emerald eyes met amber, “Melissa would be very unhappy!”

A puff of air escaped the woman’s lips, “What? You're her husband or something?”

“Yes!”

All that answered him was the hum of the machine. Processing, innovative several decades ago, churned away, filling in the silence between giantess and the man at her mercy. Slowly, her foot withdrew, allowing blinding florescent light to bathe his form.

Like the crack of a whip, a wicked cackle broke the silence. Alexia had to steady her chest from turbulence resulting from her raucous laughter. Several tears, drops that could have hydrated Dylan thoroughly, streamed down her cheek.

“Hoo boy!” she exclaimed, wicking away the moisture from her eyes, “That's rich! Yeah, some wife you've got there, leaving you tied up while letting other woman smash you to bits!”

As she pondered upon what she had said, the working woman added on, “That's actually kinda like Melissa, now that you think about it.”

A mote of fury entered Dylan’s chest. Neither the exhaustion of his limbs, nor the soreness of his flesh could prevent his knee-jerk outburst, “You don't know what she's like!”

“Really going with this are ya?” Alexia mused, peering further down at the battered man. Amber eyes caught a lustrous twinkle upon one of the man’s infinitesimal hands. “Even got a ring to back you up.”

And why would he go through the trouble of getting a ring to prove to me that he wasn’t tied up here by Melissa … to prove that he’s married to her …

“Gee, you really are married to that ice queen are you?” she realized, her own breath becoming audible, “I never would have guessed. Figured a little stain like you would be a bit less ... happy looking. But, you’re like a mini bottle of sunshine.”

Dylan’s eyes looked from the left, to the right, as conflict resided within him. “Uh, well, thanks miss.” he finally decided to say.

Alexia, meanwhile, decided to stand at her full height once more. It was clear, even to Dylan who was but a speck to the titans of the workplace, that even as she towered above, Melissa still had a good half to a head on her.

“Tell you what, let's reevaluate here,” Alexia began to concede, “I know Melissa, and believe me, you don't need to defend her here. Being with a woman like that? Forget what I was thinking, that must be the most miserable existence I could think of.”

Again, anger itself spoke before Dylan could even consider what flew out of his mouth, “Hey, don't talk about Melissa that way! She's great!”

A sigh escaped the giantess, “Relax sunshine, she isn't here!”

Dylan saw her lips curl into a smile. Her lips, full, and shaded a rather dark rich color, pouted as she beheld him. Sweat formed on his forehead, and the stirrings that had tormented his trousers earlier that day had begun to return.

“But ... I am.”

Her hand reached down, and began undoing the straps of one of her sandals. Each binding was done in a deliberate manner; it was clear she was in no hurry to extract her foot from her shoe. Every time a strap was undone, she flicked the floppy material away. Once unbound, her foot began sliding out of its containment. Methodically it moved, while digits, confined in tight tan material, wriggled and flexed.

Despite himself, the technician could not take his eyes off of the sight. He could not even blink.

What he saw was like witnessing a leviathan moving in the deep. Countless tonnes of foot hovered in the air. Now, he could fully take in the imposing details as they drew close. His discerning eyes caught the manner in which the cloth of Alexia’s stockings wrapped, stretched and folded over her skin. The temperature had noticeably risen, but this was not due to the ancient machine overheating. A distinct smell of flesh mixed with a pungent perfume filled his nostrils, almost causing him to enter some sort of delirium.

The sweltering warmth of her tights caressed him, as her foot pressed against the pedal. There was not enough force utilized to even move the device so it would toggle; not normally, nor with Dylan’s jury-rigged solution. Still, the desired effect Alexia sought took place. In the depths of her sensitive ped, she detected a rather hard, stiff nub.

“Man, she must be so cold your balls must have turned blue,” she said in a heavy, breathy voice. Dylan could not utter a word of objection, for his mouth had taken in the full taste of her stocking.

She continued, “Don't worry, I'll give you a little excitement.”

Her efforts intensified, as the sole of her foot circled around. Alexia’s ears picked up a few desperate squeaks. The technician’s body, hard from years of labor, shuddered in her tender flesh. Were she to continue, the woman could anticipate a rather delightful climax fast approaching.

Movement caught the edge of her vision. Her head turned back, and she let out a sharp exhale as she saw the figures of Melissa and Serena rush by. Panic, however, was the last item on her mind. She did let up, however, and discerned a pained whine from the mousy man below as a result.

The heavy, gray entrance lumbered open. Melissa was the first through. Her expression was blank as always, but her eyes told a different story. Icy orbs burned with a magnitude that would have put the sun to shame. If her glare was a cannon, she would have shot Alexia with it.

Serena, meanwhile, had delegated herself to the background. Her fingers twiddled, and she did her best to avoid eye-contact with her friend.

Melissa drew close, her stilettos slapping against the cold floor, sounding less like heels, and more akin to gunshots. Such was the sound that Dylan, even in his agonized state, grew excited, even through the sight of Alexia’s legs blocked off his viewpoint.

Making the most of her stature, the executive glared down at Alexia, before she began, “Serena here warned me you were to use the computer. Regarding your dubious history with the regular-sized, I simply wanted to make sure our technician is alright.”

Alexia smirked, sending a wave of unease through Melissa, “Oh, he's alright! I've met him. Worked like a charm! And have to say, easy on the eyes.”

The woman delighted upon witnessing her boss tighten her lips. She could easily make out the outlines of clenched teeth within her mouth. Melissa’s hands, folded just below her chest, had now tightened into fists.

“Heck, in fact, I'd much prefer it this way.” she continued, moving her shoeless foot over the pedal once more, “This mess of a machine's 30% faster here with the little guy working.”

Her foot smothered Dylan for the second time. She had arranged it so the gap of her toes gripped his head, while the pad of her anterior sole gripped the rest of his body. Softly, did she press down, toggling the pedal, and getting out another squeak from Dylan.

Repeatedly she did this, demonstrating what Melissa already knew, the fixed functionality of the mouse. The executive was granted a clear perspective of Alexia’s foot at work. Her mouth furrowed as she witnessed it in action.

“Your sandal's off,” she observed.

“That's because, despite the padding, shoes are really hard on him. He's got a broken nose for Christ's sake! Only some uncaring bitch would press on him with her shoes on.”

What Alexia witnessed, she would treasure for the years beyond. Melissa, already of a pale complexion, grew as white as snow. Cold sweat formed on her forehead, while her eyes wavered. The executive’s lips trembled, while a hesitant foot, caused her to back away.

Meanwhile, as Melissa began to relent, Alexia increased the vigor in which she pumped the pedal, no longer caring about the impression of demonstrating functionality. Her boss’s eyes remained glued to the spot, witnessing the hidden form of her husband languishing underneath the muggy, musky stocking. Several moans made their way to Melissa’s ear, but she could not summon any indignation to even let out a word of protest.

Once Alexia sensed the man below her shudder once more, she relented, resulting in Dylan letting out another frustrated squeak. Never, did the woman’s eyes let up, glaring into the once cold irises of her boss. A knowing smile tainted her arrogant expression, daring the executive to take action.

But, Melissa’s guilt-filled soul could not muster up the challenge.

“I trust he'll be alright?” she begged, “You know we'll get into legal trouble if any major injuries occur?”

“Relax Icy,” came the false reassurance, “I'm gentler than a silk handkerchief.”

With the timidity of a lost puppy, Melissa retreated. Her eyes veered back to Serena, then to Alexia once more, as she wavered between exiting the room, and remaining.

Soon enough, the CEO was able to pass through the door. Serena shot her a desperate look, before she too, followed her superior out.

Alexia was left alone with Dylan once more.

A predatory look overtook her face, as she glared down at the messy sight before her foot. Licking her lips, her foot advanced.

Her actions were interrupted as the door swung open again. Melissa, it appeared, had doubled back. It appeared she had settled down. The executive’s face was as stoic and deadpan as ever, as a dead-serious look was shot into the depths of Alexia’s soul.

“Alexia!” she shouted most sternly.

“What?” responded the woman, her breath beginning to accelerate.

“Watch your language,” scolded Melissa, “You are in a professional environment.”

As soon as she had entered, she departed. The heavy door was slammed behind her, a shocking accomplishment, considering its weight.

Rolling her eyes, Alexia continued. She pumped the pedal once more, exiting out of her last document. With a satisfied sigh, she could focus on her true task at hand.

Dylan was surrounded on all sides. With both arms bound, he could not find purchase to free himself from the sweltering prison he found himself in. His legs kicked out, sinking into warm cloth that stained his pants with the barest layer of sweat. The technician’s face was all but consumed by Alexia’s foot, while her big toe and second toe flanked the sides of his head, pinching it in a most tender manner. Overwhelmed by sensuous sensations, it was not long before he could feel his hips rock in desperation.

“Have to say, you've got poor taste in woman, but you are the perfect pedal,” Alexia sneered.

Her foot continued to pump upon the man. Alexia’s pulses increased in intensity, until she felt him closing in on the desired place. Not yet little man, I’ve got way more mileage I can get out of you.

As her foot lifted off of him, Dylan could only plead, “What are you doing?”

“You really should be honored,” Alexia cooed back at him, sticking out her tongue, “Little ants like you usually aren't worth my time. I'd say you've earned yourself a little prize.”

She pressed her big toe into Dylan’s face.

“Stop,” was all he could muster. His voice was muffled by the mass of her flesh.

“Make me,” dared his tormentor, and his siren, “Don't worry, your bitch isn't here. It's just me. Do this for me.”

“No,” groaned Dylan, into the heat of her stocking.

Her big toe moved up and down his body, a puny effort, but one quite apparent on the poor man. His tongue was sticking out by instinct, and he could taste her odorous taint, built up from a day spent in heeled-sandals. Emerald eyes rolled back, while his hips continued to gyrate. The only part of his that stood steady was his conviction. But even that was beginning to waver.

“Worried that you're disrespecting wifey?” she teased, intensifying her efforts, “Embarrassed that it takes only a foot to make you squirt?”

Another moan escaped him, delivered entirely into the mass of her foot. Dylan’s fists clenched, as if that would hold off the tide of pleasure. Yet, every time he was brought to the edge of despair, Alexia would relent, and deny him release, provoking a pang of agony that tortured his confused conscience.

He’s so cute when he’s frustrated like this. Oh Melissa, I might just have to keep this little guy.

Alexia brought her foot to where her toe only covered Dylan’s torso, leaving his head exposed. She giggled as she still felt his squirms down below.

“If you pop, it'll be our little secret,” she taunted, bringing a finger to her lips, “You don't have to tell anyone.”

She increased the pressure of her toe, and delighted when Dylan’s face scrunched up once more. The man was desperately trying to divert his attention, or for the third time, he would spill something he would regret.

He thought of his wife, whom he had devoted himself to. He thought of her smile, her beautiful ice-blue eyes, her statuesque body, curvy hips, voluptuous chest …

Clearly, a different avenue was required. The technician pondered upon some of the most horrific horror movies he had witnessed, the likes of which sent his wife into a frightful frenzy, hugging him tightly so that the disgusting movie monsters would not harm her…

Apparently what would only work was imagining his Grandfather, the respectable patriarch of his childhood, stark naked.

Alexia’s voice pierced through the aether, demanding his attention, “You'll get to stick it to that cold-hearted bitch. It's the only thing you'll ever get to stick in her.”

Dylan’s train of thought crashed. He was brought closer and closer to the brink. The soft, tender, pungent stocking sunk into every contour of his body. It even invaded the depths of his mind, to where closed eyes and plugged ears could not escape. All of him, pain and pleasure, was now the dominion of the woman who stood above him, who stood on him. And to her, he was nothing but a plaything.

“Worried that you'll be a dirty little cheater?” she sneered, her voice, a risque whisper, “She deserves it.”

The man desperately shook his head, yet the pressure within kept building up.

“Let's finish this, but only if you ask nicely.”

He looked up, and cowered before her Amber glare. Each eye burned like a yellow star. Were he to fly too close with wax wings, his devices would burn, and be cast into the turbulent sea.

“Please stop ...” he begged.

A barrage of pressure assailed him, drawing him closer to the abyss, before forcefully pulling him away.

“Try again.” she scolded, “Say, 'Mistress Alexia, allow my nasty, tiny, cheating prick to cum.'”

“No, please...” he moaned as her toe pumped along his hapless body. He would experience a pang of pain, now, every time he was denied climax.

“C'mon, you filthy little stain. I'm waiting.”

Another rush of pressure finally broke his spirit. Dylan felt his arms go slack. Emerald eyes, once full of life, were now rendered dull and empty. In a pathetic squeak, his parched mouth opened. “Mi-Mistress.”

Alexia let out a sigh, “Close enough. Speaking of which ...”

Her foot pressed down one last time. Dylan offered no resistance, and immediately felt release upon him. A loud squeak exited his mouth. Tears streamed down his eyes, as his hips thrust against the extremity above. Alexia felt a small wet stain upon her stocking, and grinned victoriously.

“Nasty little cheater,” she taunted, “All from a woman's foot.”

She brought the sole of her foot up, before smothering the entirety of Dylan’s body. He notably glowed with heat, a combination of clarity, embarrassment, and the day’s labors. A triumphant laugh rocked her chest as she regarded the man trapped underneath her foot, as he stained her stocking with tears and lecherous liquid.

Score 1 for Alexia! Better luck next time Messi!

...

Melissa’s office faced westward. As such, outside her window, the evening sun ignited the sky with various hues. It was necessary to keep the blinders down, lest every man and woman, big and small, blind themselves once called to her office.

The executive herself, of course, kept her back to the view outside. Yet, on this particular day, she appeared unlike her usual self. Her posture, once proud and straight, was slumped over. Melissa’s expression, something she always managed to keep unreadable, was now bursting with somber sympathy.

At her desk was a man, curled up in utmost shame. Dylan’s eyes were red, having been recently stained with tears. He dared not even look at his own wife, as if he was unworthy of her image. Even as she allowed a pale, thin finger of a girth greater than any man to stroke down his back, the gesture brought the disgraced technician little comfort.

Alexia you fiend, you will pay for making my husband this way!

Melissa felt an immense pain in her chest as she witnessed Dylan languish in such a state. Even more agonizing, was that none of her reassurances, whether by speech, or by action, could lift his mood.

All except for one thing.

“I suppose I’ll have to punish you for your infidelity.”

For the first time that evening, Dylan looked up. A sort of relief washed across his face, as if accepting punishment for a crime he had never committed would uplift him. An understanding nod followed, as he awaited the consequences his wife had planned for him.

“I can’t have prying eyes and sniveling sirens leading you astray. For this evening, you will be tending to my nylons.”

Melissa’s fingers, once careful and tender, now pinched the revived man by his shirt, dangling him over the edge of the desk. He was brought down, down to her chair. Dropped upon the lush leather surface, he could only gawk at her nylon-clad legs, stretching up as high as multi-story buildings, flanking him on either side. Further inward, his keen eyes could perceive where her thighs met, as well as the outline of his wife’s undergarments, an enticing sight that still stirred hidden desires.

Venturing forth, into the black depths of his wife’s skirt, Dylan was ready to perform his penance.

Melissa would later come to regret this decision, for her evening proved quite unproductive. In addition, she was quite sure Serena had caught her making the most unprofessional of facial expressions as her husband serviced her most intimate needs with great passion. Such was her burden, being the boss.