Some hours later I hear movement outside. The familiar slap of Cheryl's sandals approaching, the snap of a light being turned on. I hear fingers on the outside, grasping the shoebox, and I feel a vibration through the bottom of the box as it slides along some surface. A few seconds of frightening disorientation as I move down, then a slight bounce in synch with her footsteps. Another sense of downward movement, then the box comes to rest. I hear the creak of bedsprings and the box suddenly shakes violently.
Finally, the lid comes off and I squint up into Cheryl's beaming face.
"Shoo, it stinks in there," she says, reaching in and fishing me out. "Looks like you're gonna need another bath."
I wipe the sweat from my forehead. "How are Paul and Naomi?" I ask, my voice dry and croaking.
"As well as can be expected," she says, shaking her head. "They're really worried about you, especially Naomi. You really shouldn't have run off like you did."
I glare at her, wondering if I misunderstood. Is she really blaming me for this?
"Anyway, I tried to talk your momma into going dancing with me at Red River, but she was afraid your daddy wouldn't understand, what with her having an affair and everything."
"So, you're going dancing tonight?"
"Sure am," she says, grinning. "Lee's gonna be there tonight." She giggles and adds, "Which means Lee will probably be here tonight, so I better put you somewhere out of the way."
She carries me into the bathroom and sets me on the vanity. I watch her, a little nervously, as she starts the water in the bathtub and adds the bubbles. I'm having trouble pegging her mood, and I don't know how she's going to respond to my requests. But like I said, I really don't have much to lose at this point.
"Can you do me a favor?" I ask her. She looks at me, amused that I would even ask. "Of course," she says, laughing. "Once I get you in the tub, I'll do you several favors."
I chuckle hoarsely, hoping it doesn't sound as insincere as it feels. "Well, that too," I say with a grin, and Cheryl laughs.
"Whatcha need, sweetie?"
"I was just wondering if you put some water in the box for me," I ask her as she unbuttons her halter top and lets it fall to the floor. "It's really hot and my throat is sore."
"Sure, sweetie," she says. "I'm sorry I didn't think of it myself, you poor thing."
"And, any chance we can... um... change the bedding?"
"How come?" she asks me archly, smiling at my discomfort. "You don't like my panties?"
"It's just... I kinda got sweaty and stinky, and now..."
She shakes her head and laughs. "It's okay, sweetie. I'm sure we can find you something you'd like better."
This bath goes pretty much like the one last night did. I spend the first half squirming between her toes while she slowly, torturously, brings me to orgasm. I then spend the next fifteen minutes or so stroking her nipple while she gives herself an underwater treat.
When we're done, she mousses and teases her hair to make it look larger than usual, and she spackles on her whore paint while I watch. Then she carries me into the bedroom and sets me on the floor to subject me to the ordeal of watching her get dressed.
She slips into her bra, then sits down on the bed to put on her dark panty hose. She slides them over her leg with luxurious slowness, enjoying the fact that she has a captive audience. When she has them on, she stands up and walks over to me. I watch her nylon-clad feet as she approaches, wishing my guilty pleasure wasn't so readily visible.
"Lay down," she tells me, and I do so. She covers me with a foot, rubbing her silky nylon sole over my naked body. The carpet digs uncomfortably in my back, but I don't care. For a second, I can almost forget how much I hate her as her soft, sheer foot strokes me. I spread my arms in a crazy attempt to embrace her massive foot as I bury my face in her stocking, breathing in the smells of lavender soap and lingering sweat.
Then, suddenly, her foot is gone and I'm left lying on my back, sporting a very obvious erection.
"Too bad I've got to go, sweetie," she says, grinning down at me. "We could really have some fun tonight."
I sit up and shift in an effort to hide my tumescent prick. She giggles at my efforts, then warns me to "Stay put" as she goes to the closet to get her dress. I glance around the room, wondering just how far I could get before she caught me. Unfortunately, I'm not wild about the odds. And if I piss her off, I might have to spend the evening in conditions worse than this afternoon's.
She steps into her dress and pulls it up, sliding it up over her shoulders. It's black and tight, very flattering on her. She parades around in it for me, twirling so I can see the skirt.
It's starting to get dark outside. Cheryl glances over at the clock, then hurries over to her dresser. She puts on her turquoise earrings, and a matching necklace. Then, finally, she slips into a pair of black stiletto heel pumps.
"Well?" she asks me, striking a pose. I tell her she's beautiful, and she looks quite pleased.
"Okay, then," she says, kneeling down and picking me up. "Let's get you fixed up so I can get out of here."
She reaches into the shoebox and pulls out the panties, then sets me inside. "Just a second," she tells me, tapping into the bathroom in her high heels. I hear the tap running, just briefly. She comes back in and sets a small Dixie cup half full of water into the box with me.
"Now, something nice for you to sleep on," she says, looking around the room. Her eyes light up and she grins. "I know just the thing!" She heads off, then hurries back. "You're gonna love this," she says, setting one of her white sandals in the box with me.
Exasperated, I glare up at her. "Come on, Cheryl," I plead. "I've been good."
"What?" she asks with a smirk. "You know you love it." I glare at the sandal, still damp with sweat from her foot. I see the dark marks on the insole, where her toes, heel and the ball of her foot have rubbed against it all day. I'm still staring with disdain when she puts the lid on the box and picks it up.
Once again, I feel a moment of vertigo as I'm lifted and carried. My water splashes a bit, but doesn't spill. The box tilts slightly, and the shoe slides against the side. Then, the box comes to a rest. I hear her finger tap on the far end.
"Have fun, sweetie," she rasps. Then I hear the snap of a light switch and the receding sound of her high heels.
It's hot and I'm probably just a little delirious. Not that it's an excuse, but there's got to be some reason why I'm experiencing this feeling.
You've got to understand, it's pitch black in there and all I can smell is sweat and leather. Her sweat and leather. It's totally permeated the air and everything in this box. The water has even taken its taste from the oppressive smell.
And I lie there in the dark, still sporting my erection, unable to think of anything else but the sight of sheer black nylon stretched tight and clinging to the bottom of her foot. The way it felt, to be totally overwhelmed by the soft, tantalizing friction over my entire body. I think of her toes wiggling in there, flexing and stretching the nylon like web as they spread.
This is so stupid, I tell myself, desperately willing myself to snap out of it. It's a game with her. She wants only to subjugate me, to completely dominate me. And if I allow myself to feel this way about her, then she wins.
I hate her. I really, really hate her. More than Naomi, more than Kim, more than anybody else I've ever met. I hate Cheryl Morgan with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns.
But I can't stand it. I finally roll over onto my stomach and thinking of her nylon-clad foot, I masturbate angrily into the leather sole of her sandal.
I'm awaked from a fitful doze by muffled voices, murmuring softly. I can't quite make out what they're saying, but there are definitely two of them. And one of them is Cheryl's.
I can hear footsteps, and a man's voice that seems to be getting nearer. I press my ear to the side of the box in an effort to hear more.
"...such a bitch," the man is saying. "Can't you at least pretend like you enjoy my company?"
Cheryl giggles, and replies back in a mocking tone. "Of course I do, Lee. What, you think I'd fuck you if I didn't like you?"
"Never mind," the man says. "I knew it was a bad idea to come back here."
"What the hell are you doing?" Cheryl asks angrily. I hear more footsteps, then a soft, seductive moan. Or rather, what passes as soft and seductive from Cheryl. I hear her talking softly, almost pleading.
"Forget it," the man - Lee - says. "If that's all you want, you can drive to State Street and get yourself a twenty-dollar whore."
"Prick!" Cheryl suddenly screams, and I hear a loud, brutal slap.
More angry footsteps. "What the hell is with you tonight?" Lee asks. "You're acting like a goddamn psycho!"
"Fuck you!" Cheryl screams, and something hits the wall. Probably a fist. "Just get out!"
"Fine." Angry, receding footsteps, and the angry slamming of the door. Cheryl lets out an angry cry, and something glass strikes the wall and shatters. "Fucking prick!" she keeps screaming as she storms angrily around the room.
Then, I hear her footsteps come closer, and I hear a light being snapped on. I'm suddenly filled with cold terror. I run to the corner of my box and huddle, praying vainly as her hands slap roughly against the outside. The entire box shakes violently as it is whipped through the air with no regard. I bounce against her sandal as it slides along the bottom of the box. Grabbing frantically for something to steady myself, I find myself clinging to the leather strap. My water glass tumbles over, splashing water all over me and her shoe.
Finally, the hellish trip ends with a rough bounce. The lid is ripped from the box and Cheryl's face, bathed in blinding light, glares down at me angrily. "Wake your ass up," she snarls. She's quite drunk, and her face is flushed beneath the smeared makeup. Mascara runs down her cheeks in dark teary trails, and her lipstick seems no longer confined to her lips.
"What the fuck did you do?" she barks at me. She reaches in and snatches me up roughly. "Did you spill your water?" she asks, holding me just inches from her angry, horrifying mouth. There's lipstick on her teeth, and her breath is hot and sour.
"I said, did you spill your water?" she shouts, pinching me hard between her fingers. I scream out, "No! It spilled when you moved the box!"
"You little shit!" She slaps the box off the bed with her other hand, sending it flying across the room. She glares down at me with utter contempt, and I suddenly imagine myself flying across the room as well, smashing against the wall.
Instead, she drops me on the bed. I freefall, flailing and screaming, for several seconds before I strike the mattress and bounce. I lie there, face down, praying for some kind of delivery.
"Don't you fucking move," she says, stepping away from the bed. I can feel her eyes on me, even without looking. "I swear to God, I'll rip your little arms and legs off." I hear the zip of her dress, then the shuffle as it falls to the floor. I glance up just in time to see her removing her bra. She touches a couple of fingers to her right nipple, then lets out a moan. Even from here, I can see that they're fully, painfully erect.
Wearing only her panty hose, she sits down on the bed and picks me up again. She licks her lips, then presses me to her breast. She runs me over her nipple, gasping as she rubs my naked body against the stiff, knobby flesh. She lets out a moan, and her grip on me relaxes somewhat. Then, suddenly, her hand is gone and I'm left clinging to her nipple, dangling helplessly.
"Cheryl," I cry out as she stands up and starts to remove her panty hose. I try desperately to pull myself up, to get astride her nipple. I dig my fingers into the textured flesh, trying to improve my grip, and she lets out a pleasurable moan.
"Rub harder," she orders me as she sits back down. "Suck it." While I struggle powerlessly, hanging from her breast, she slowly removes her hose. There's nothing seductive about her movements - she's going slow just to torment me, to prolong my agony.
Finally, she wads up her hose and tosses them on the floor. Her hand moves towards me, and I feel a small tinge of relief that, at least, this small slice of torture is over. She grabs me, then mashes my face against her hard nipple.
"My God, you're useless," she says scornfully. "Just pretend like it's my feet." Her fingers press against the back of my head for about another minute, then she peels me off of her breast and dangles me in front of her cruel face.
"If you can't do any better than that, I'll just have to put you down the garbage disposal," she says, with a harsh laugh. "Is that what you want?"
I shake my head, trembling in her grasp. "No, ma'am."
She sighs. "Lee's a prick. He had no right to get me worked up like this and then just leave." She licks her lips and says, "Oh, well. If you can't be with the one you love..."
"No!" I scream, flailing madly as she lowers me down between her legs...
Oh, God! Oh, God!
I'm curled up in the corner of my shoebox, which sits on the bed next to the sleeping, snoring giantess Cheryl. My skin, every pore of my body, is permeated with the smell of her. I'm still covered with her sticky juices, and a few coarse, black hairs that cling to my flesh. The smell, the sight, the feeling of being tangled up in that matted hair and pressed against her wet slit. The sound it made, a wet, sickening pop as her monstrous fingers pried it open and pushed me inside. The horrible, frantic sense of utter desperation as slimy, hot, sticky flesh enveloped me in darkness.
I still remember her voice, raspy and hateful, growling, "Fuck me, you little bastard," as she slid me in and out. And I remember her moans, her screams, as her handling of me became more and more frantic. Then, suddenly, everything seemed to freeze. Cheryl dropped me and slapped her hands flat on the bed as the orgasm ripped through her body. And right at the moment of climax, she screamed out, "J. D.!"
I think J. D. was the name of her husband.
Oh, God!
I was wrong. I was stupid to think I couldn't sink any lower, to think Cheryl couldn't possibly do anything to make my life worse. Just the thought of spending another day, another hour in her possession, fills me such dread.
When she put me in my box, she kissed her fingers and touched them to me and told me goodnight in a sweet, playful voice. As if what had just transpired were just a game, just a bit of fun. God, to her it probably was. She's probably still basking in the warm feeling of "making me a man."
I know now that this is the bottom, the worst things can get. Nothing else she can do to me would ever make me feel worse than I do right now. I honestly have nothing left to lose at this point.
Because I'll die before I'll let her do that to me again.
I toss and turn all night, unable to really sleep. Every time she stirs, I cringe, afraid she'll wake up feeling amorous. I doze fitfully, my mind filled with horrifying memories. Finally, as the room begins to grow lighter, I give up on trying to sleep and instead concentrate on a way to escape.
The spilled water has dried in the bottom of my box, leaving a dark stain. I sit on the edge of her sandal and stare at the discolored cardboard, my mind seizing on the germ of an idea.
Cheryl moans softly and shifts, causing the box to bounce on the mattress. I hear her yawn as she sits up and peers down at me.
"Morning, lover," she says sleepily, her eyes still half closed. "Do you need to go potty?"
I nod, and she reaches in and takes me in her hand. Naked, she pads into the bathroom with me and sets me on the rim of the toilet. "Hurry up," she tells me as I piss over the edge. "I gotta go, too."
When I'm done, she sets me on the floor, lowers the seat on the toilet, and sits down on the bowl. I turn my back to her to let her finish.
"Hey," she calls down to me, prodding me with her toe. "Why you being so shy, sweetie? Might as well make yourself useful while you're down there." She raises her bare foot over me and lowers it slowly, gently pressing me to the floor. I stumble to my knees, then finally roll onto my back as she pins me beneath her toes.
"Yeah, that's more your speed, isn't it?" Her toes slide around me, grasping me and pinching me. "You like it down there, under my foot? Like a little bug?"
I say nothing. I simply lie there and endure it. For once, there's no reluctant lust, no guilty pleasure. After last night, there may never be again.
"What if I just stepped on you?" she giggles. "Every time I've got you down there, I think about that. What if I just kept pushing until you finally popped like a little insect?"
I glare up at her without speaking as she rolls me around beneath her foot, teasing me with her toes. Go ahead, I think bitterly. Do it.
After about ten minutes, she finally finishes. She wipes herself and stands off, moving her foot from me as she turns to flush.
"What's the matter with you, sweetie?" she asks me, looking back down at me. "You mad, or just worn out?"
I swallow the bile in my throat as I climb to my feet. "Just tired, I guess," I tell her as reasonably as I can.
"Poor baby," she says, bending down to pick me up. "Just let me get dressed, and I'll make us some breakfast."
Once again, I spend breakfast between Cheryl's toes, eating whatever pieces of egg and bacon she hands down to me. But I endure it, because I've finally got an idea of how to get away, and it won't work if she arbitrarily decides to punish me. So I dangle from her foot, occasionally stroking her toes to show her what a good sport I can be.
I bide my time all morning, waiting for her to tire of playing with me. Finally, around lunch time, she gets a call from Naomi. I listen eagerly as I straddle her ankle, massaging her sandaled foot. "Yeah, that sounds great, sweetie," she says. "I'll be right over."
She hangs up the phone and says, "Naomi and I are going to lunch." She plucks me from her foot and carries me into her bedroom. "If you're a good boy while I'm gone, I'll bring you back a doggie bag."
"Sounds great," I say, grinning excitedly as she puts me in my box. "Um, can I have some water?"
"I don't know," she says, raising an eyebrow. "Are you going to spill it again?"
I shake my head. "No ma'am. I'll be really careful."
"Okay, sweetie." She walks off, then returns with a paper cup of water. "Now, how about something soft to sleep on?"
"Your panty hose?" I ask with a shy smile, and Cheryl giggles. "You naughty little thing. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
I nod. "Yes ma'am." She rummages around on the floor, then comes up with the wad of sheer, dark nylon. She sets them in the box and says, "You all set, sweetie?"
"Yes ma'am," I tell her. "Have fun!"
"I will," she says, sliding the lid in place. "And we'll have a nice bath when I get back."
I shudder in the darkness as the box trembles around me. I feel movement and hear footsteps. Then, once again, I feel the box being lifted until it comes to rest. It slides along the surface, then comes to a stop. I hear the click of the light switch and the sound of receding footsteps. When they're gone, I get to work.
You see, I finally figured it out. The up and down movement? She's putting me on a high shelf. The light switch? It's her closet. So right now, my shoebox is probably setting six feet or so off the ground on a shelf in a dark closet.
I tap the sides of the box, making sure to pick one that isn't pressed against the wall. Once again, the far end sounds like my best bet. I grab my water cup and rock it back and forth until it finally tips over. The cold water spills all over the cardboard, splashing against the side and the bottom of the box. I walk over to the far end, my bare feet spattering water with each step, and I kneel in front of the cardboard wall.
I set to digging with my bare hands in the soggy cardboard, tearing wet strips of mushy paper from the side and bottom. After about ten minutes, my arm finally pokes through the wall into the vast emptiness beyond. Dim light spills through, glaringly obvious in the darkness of the shoebox.
I press my eye against the hole and see that I was right. Her clothes hang just below the shelf I'm on, and her shoes lie in discarded piles far, far below me. The closet door is closed, but a little light spills through the crack at the bottom. Just enough to see.
I wander over to her panty hose and feel around until I find the toe. I take it in my hands and haul it, with much effort, to the hole in the box. Then, hanging on for dear life, I kick at the hole with my foot until I finally break through.
I fall through the hole still clinging to Cheryl's hose. They come through with me, sliding through the opening with a loud zip, lowering me towards the floor of the closet.
The hose catch after about two feet, leaving me dangling way too high. I glance down at the piles of shoes below me, wondering if I could survive such a fall. Physically speaking, I probably could, but not without breaking a limb.
So I kick my legs and swing on my makeshift nylon rope towards her hanging clothes. I finally let go of the panty hose and fly through the air, screaming until I plop against a rabbit coat.
Clinging to the soft fur, I climb down slowly, methodically. I find myself thinking crazily of that show Land of the Giants, where they always have a convenient phone cable or electrical cord to shimmy down. But, once again, real life has failed to live up to those fantastic standards.
Still, I'm doing all right. I reach the bottom of her coat and let myself drop the remaining twelve inches. I land hard, but unharmed, on the rubber sole of her flip-flop. I lie there for a few minutes, collecting my thoughts and giving my weary arms a rest. Then, giddy with excitement, I scramble under the closet door and make good my escape.
Giantess World
Homunculus by Cayce