Thankfully, the walk between the girl's locker room and the elliptical machines was a short distance.  Before long, I found myself saved from the painful steps as Rachel placed her feet on the foot pads of the elliptical machine.  I then felt my body endure the back-and-forth swinging motion as she began her workout.

Now pressed firmly into her hot sole, my body was trapped between her foot and the hard surface of the foot pads.  The nauseating movement would have been enough to sickin even the most enthusiastic of roller-coaster devotees as Rachel swung her legs foward and backward. 

Unable to wiggle even the tiniest of appendages, I could merely remain in place and suffer the new torture.  Each of my meager breaths afforded me the barest oxygen needed to remain conscious, and each breath greeted my tongue and lungs with an increasingly humid odor that smelled of rubbery sneaker-sole and moist skin.  I imagined Rachel placing her hands on the alternating arm handles, wacthing a mindless episode of MTV's "Made" or an equally silly episode of "Friends," headphones on her cute ears.

Time passsed.  The pressure on my shrunken frame remained completely constant, and while the pain wasn't as intense as her foot-falls when she walked, I nevertheless struggled to remain sane as my muscles felt flattened and my bones cracked and popped under the strain of a giantess that was crushing me.

My only salvation lay in the fact that my penis remained erect, and while I would have traded the pain for a less-erotic experience, I was nonetheless gaining some level of pleasure from the rubbing of her moist sole against my member.  Moaning slightly--both from pain and from pleasure--I tried counting the minutes as they passed, but found that exercise too taxing as my brain tried to comprehend the situation into which I had been placed.

Muffled sounds occasionally made their way into the sneaker and ankle sock; girls walking by and getting on their own machines; Rachel greeting friends as they strolled past; the beeps of her own machine as she alternately increased and decreased the foot pads' resistance, simultaneously changing my level of torture.

As more time eeked by, I felt a sheen of sweat begin to grow on her foot's sole.  I felt the blood in her skin pump harder as her foot grew more swollen inside the hot sock.  Eventually, the sweat began to entirely cover my naked body, and I felt my hair absorb it as much as her increasingly wet sock.  This increased the pleasure I felt as my penis rubbed against her foot, but made life in the sock more difficult as well; her sweat stung my eyes, forcing them to remain shut tightly in the darkness, and I couldn't help but to swallow some of the salty liquid as I took my tiny breaths.  Her sweat clogged my nose, and I had to keep my mouth open to  breath, at times licking her skin accidentally and getting more of her foot's flavor on my tongue.

And so I remained trapped.  This wasn't how I had envisioned our first date tonight.  Instead, I had intended to take her to O'Charlies for dinner, drink a few beers, and head over to her place for a quick one-night stand.  Rachel, obviously, had had different plans, and so now I was her toy and essential foot-slave. 

The situation was a desperate one for me.  Certainly no one, not even the girls closest to her machine, would have any idea that Rachel had a tiny boy inside her left shoe, strapped against her hot foot and forced to endure a workout of untold duration.  Any effort on my part to make noise would have been in vain, and would have wasted precious oxygen anyways. 

How much time had passed? Five minutes? Twenty? I had no idea.  I only begged her, silently, to stop, to check on me, and then perhaps I could plead my case for her to end this torture.  As I considered what I might say to her to get my shrunken state reversed, I sensed her foot becoming more stinky--a female's sweaty odor, both sensual and almost gagging.  How much sweat had I swallowed?  Even if she were to remove me now, I would smell like her foot for a week, I imagined. 

And still Rachel continued her workout.  Had she forgotten about me? Decided to smother me in a damp sock and sticky sole? As if to answer my question, the rocking motion finally stopped after what seemed an hour.  After a moment, Rachel left the machine and crushed me under her steps until I felt her sit down, presumably in the girl's locker room. 

I heard voices around us, and Rachel dangled her foot until they left.  Then, thankfully, she removed her foot from the smelly sneaker and took off her sock, peeling me off of her hot, red sole like a band-aid.  The sudden light blinded me for a moment, and when my vision cleared, I was back on the cold plastic bench with Rachel dominating my view above me, smiling.  Her foot lay on the bench in front of me, and I could still smell it.  Or was I simply smelling my own body, covered in her sweat?

"Well, Harry, how was it?" she asked with a seductive smile. 

Between heaving breaths, I tried to plead for mercy.  "Rachel, please," I said, gasping for air, "please, no more.  I--"

She interuppted me.  "Guess how long you were in there, Harry?"  As if to press the issue, she placed her big toe back on my body and pressed downward.  Before she increased the pressure, I answered her.

"An hour! Please, Rachel, not again! I'll do anything! But please no more of that!"

Rachel giggled, her tight body and giantess breasts shaking slightly.  "That was only 15 minutes, Harry."

I couldn't believe it! Only 15 minutes?

"And," she continued, "based on your little pee-pee, I think you had a good time.  That's why we're going to finish my workout--this time, 30 minutes."

I was in shock.  Before I could respond, Rachel pinched me between her thumb and finger and once again dumped me into the wet sock.