Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
Expect a dark fantasy-ish slow burn here with plenty of surreality, dreamy mind manipulation, a bit of a twist on the usual shrinking/growth macro mechanics, and of course humongous foot focus. Enjoy!
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Mitch Palmer hadn’t exactly aspired to work at a call center, but the job market was grim and he had rent to pay. So he’d begrudgingly agreed to sit in an ill-lit badly-aired room for nine hours a day surrounded by a chorus of dial tones and fifty others all putting on false smiles to pitch their crummily-manufactured sale to unwilling customers. Because the boss apparently had some kind of dictatorial complex too, the desks weren’t even allowed opaque privacy partitions to separate the closely-packed workers from one another, and maybe worst of all, there was an honest-to-God semi-formal dress code, in a place where none of the workers saw the public or light of day. For his first month on duty, Mitch loathed the whole job, and particularly these two unnecessary facets which made it impossible to feel solitude or comfort, respectively, while trapped on the clock.
The first day Lilina claimed the once-vacant desk one row ahead and diagonally right of Mitch’s, however, those major downsides turned to reasons for him even getting up in the morning.
The lack of desk partitions meant he could inconspicuously spend the endlessly dull hours just watching her like a living artistic masterwork, and the dress code ensured that her already exquisite and unusual beauty was even better pronounced. He thought he’d misheard Lilina’s name at first, it being at least one letter off from a more traditional form, but it turned out correct after all. They hardly interacted directly in the first month of her employment, only for an occasional exchange of technical information that Mitch was always lightning-fast to provide with a borderline-overeager grin, yet still their quick introduction lingered in his memory, since it was also the first moment he’d laid eyes on Lilina.
“Well, I guess you’d be my neighbor, wouldn’t you?” that captivating voice intoned for the first time, somehow echoing wetly in his ear as though articulated from an inch away, despite her polite distance. Her voice was deeper and melodic at once, and honey-silken feminine.
“Huh?” Mitch had stammered, looking up from his desk to find himself looking at a woman who, in a single instant, made him thank his lucky stars for this goddamned job.
“Lilina,” she’d said, extending her hand for him to take, though in no hurry.
“M-Mitch,” he gulped, accepting her grasp. Her handshake was firm, commanding, and hung on for a second longer than expected, though Mitch wouldn’t have minded if it went on for an hour.
“I know,” she replied with an almost-pitying smirk.
“You… do?”
“Nametag,” Lilina said, flashing him a wink and then stroking her fingertip across his tag. It took all Mitch’s power not to shiver. “It suits you.”
“R-Right. Obviously. Sorry. Uh, welcome!”
“Thank you. I’m feeling very at home already.”
Precious little about Lilina could be easily described in Mitch’s memory, even after spending most of his workdays all but openly gawking at her loveliness. There was luster in her complexion, and yet she still had a duskiness about her that made it impossible to guess her geographic origin, plus an accent that was mostly Midwestern and east-coast American, but still with a twist of something internationally exotic that only furthered the mystery. Her eyes were brown, but so dark they bordered on obsidian in the off-putting fluorescent lighting of the call center, and they utterly mesmerized Mitch on those lucky few times when she met his gaze with a dazzling secret-keeping smile. Her hair too, wavy and just beyond shoulder-length, seemed to occupy two colors at once, those being pitch-black and a shimmer of ultra-dark red, which Mitch had to guess was the fault of the bizarre lighting again, but it still didn’t take anything away from her magnetism. Lilina’s semi-formal wear did her body all kinds of favors too, since she usually chose darker-hued blouses and skirts in charcoals and maroons that highlighted her curves: she certainly wasn’t overly buxom, but still gifted enough where it counted that she could hold attention even without those other eye-catching features.
Almost impossibly, though, what enraptured Mitch even more than Lilina’s countenance, voice, or assets was the view from his desk to hers, specifically below the surface. Per the dress code, the woman was never without stockings, usually in a narrow-reaching rainbow of nude shades that made her shapely legs sparkle even more, and often with a stripe down the back matching the contours of her calf. And Mitch was quite frequently allowed to see every inch of that legwear, since although Lilina often wore high heels and fashionable clogs, once she sat down for a shift, they never remained fully on. Every aspect of her was gorgeous as it was enigmatic, but Lilina’s unquestionably best quality were those feet, the eternally-scrunching soles of which Mitch was hypnotized by for the vast majority of his day.
She didn’t just kick her shoes off, though. There was an unconscious order to this play, a sort of choreography, and by the end of her first week at the call center, Mitch had not only memorized the whole affair, but started seeing it in daydreams. First, Lilina would sidle her heel and then arch out of the shoe’s leathery slot over the course of the opening half hour of the day, one then the other. Next she’d press the ball of her foot down against the stern of the insole, splay her toes, and show off the tremendous bend in that malleable dark-peach underside until her skin paled and the material was stretched tight as vacuum-sealed wax paper over the wrinkled divots. After that, she’d run her soles back and forth for a while across the upper slope of her resting shoes, sometimes pointing her big toe inside the invisibly-fine fabric and using it to gracefully turn the shoe like a clock hand.
For the main course of the day-long act, then, Lilina would balance the upper mouth of one shoe against her stockinged toes, cross her legs, and dangle the footwear off those rigidly-pointed digits for upwards of an hour at a time, but still never idly. Almost every minute, she was either curling or uncurling her exceptionally dexterous toes, which made her easily-visible sole a vivid ever-reforming focal point of the bashful foot-fetishist’s entire day. Even an aisle away, with the details of her foot occasionally obscured by shadow and nylon stitching, Mitch soon learned every crease and texture spot along the fleshy underbelly lopes of both Lilina’s lush peds. And even confined in the semi-slippery netting of her nylon, she never lost the shoe. Not once did Mitch ever notice it tipping too far and clattering eighteen inches to the floor. Never. It almost seemed a marvel of physics that Lilina could perform this sultry dance by the delicate touch of her toes and the controlled sway of her sole alone, all while efficiently following the call script and, from the sound of it, making a hell of a lot of sales.
But she did it. Every single day. In time, Mitch came to appreciate the fact that he was expected to sit in this cramped seat for one-third of his waking life, since he had the perfect view to the ultimate show, a mindless enough task that he could devote most of his attention to imagining trysts with Lilina’s luxurious peds, and a desk to conceal his near-constant pants tents. All things considered, it was a damn good deal. At most, he traded three sentences a week with Lilina, but still he looked forward to that direct soft-spoken contact and searing focus from her dark irises almost as much as he looked forward to discovering what pair of nylons she’d chosen to wear today as soon as he hopped out of bed to enthusiastically prepare for another dreamy day of lusting after her goods.
Two better job offers for Mitch came along soon after Lilina joined the staff, and while he would’ve once leapt at the chance for a way out of this place, he passed on both options, too afraid of losing this serendipitous daily vantage to those silky, pithily-lined soles of hers, kaleidoscopically stretching and smoothing by the hour. His only real fear was if either of them was told to move desks, or worse, she simply quit. Mitch wasn’t a stalker by nature, and couldn’t help but hate himself a bit for his obsession over Lilina’s feet, experiencing tremendous guilt and pre-emptive humiliation at the very idea of her every catching onto him, but still he couldn’t help himself from looking. The lure was too strong.
Chapter End Notes:
Much more to come. Stay tuned.