Chapter 3: She’s Not There

   Naomi’s discarded panties smell of last night’s cum. I touch the fabric and touch my already hard cock with my other hand.

Then I see her socks around the corner of the bed.

   She had tossed her old clothes on the floor in a hurry, rushing out of bed for work. So far Naomi has been quite tidy, but I am beginning to think that by nature she’s a messy person and she only cleans up because I’m around. I think she’s beginning to relax around me, or maybe forget that I’m still here.

   Cock in hand I jog over to her sock. It’s a long jog and I am out of breath by the time I get there, but I when I smell the faint musty odour, I get excited.

   It’s not a bad smell. She keeps her body clean. It’s just her smell, and I can’t tell if it’s pheromones or just my growing foot fetish, but I am really fucking excited about this.

   The ankle sock is an orange and teal argyle pattern. I lift the light fabric and make my way in the mouth of the sock. It’s easier to crawl on my hands and knees to get deeper inside. I get to the toe of the sock and roll onto my back, stretch my legs and writhe around in the orange-teal cloth world like I’m making a snow angel. I turn my face and bury it in the fabric, breathing deeply, and start jacking off. I want it to last forever, but I cum quickly and lay there exhausted.

   Lying beside me, Beta looks at me questioningly.

   Ugh. I rub my face. She’s not there. I know she’s not there.

   I wonder where she is now. Maybe her and Zero are cowering in a storm drain on the street somewhere.

   Maybe she’s dead.

   I roll over. I can’t think about that.

   Maybe if I drag this sock under the bed Naomi won’t find it for a few days.

Chapter 4: Horny Creature

   It’s been days since Naomi recovered her sock from under the bed, and I am hornier than I ever remember being.

   Not that I remember much about my life. I haven’t really had time to be horny. Haven had been a crowded place and always tense. Sex with Beta had been furtive and mostly a temporary stress-relief.

   Now my horniness was a built-up creature born of boredom, restlessness, and the proximity of a beautiful and estranged giantess. I find my own voyeurism of this young single woman itself arousing for some reason. The memory of crawling recklessly into her discarded sock to masturbate excites me, and so does my now insane plot, which is hatching impulsively.

   It is late evening and Naomi has stumbled and collapsed into bed, fully clothed and snoring loudly. I know from previous experience that she will not wake or even move from this position until tomorrow afternoon when she wakes with a hangover. It must be Friday already.

   I hop out of bed and clamber down the drawers of the nightstand. When I reach the carpeted floor, I run over to the door. It’s a long run but I get there after taking only one break. I tumble to the ground and squeeze myself under the door. This part, the pressure of the giant hard object on me, always reminds me uncomfortably of the times I died, crushed under a shoe. The pain seems to lessen each time I do this though. This time I find it more awkward to squirm through, and I realize it’s because my boner is in the way. I chuckly softly .