Her slender, brown fingers dipping into the bowl, she smiled as she felt the writhing against her skin. The suffering her slaves causing her to grin happily. The hundreds of pitiful white bodies trapped inside the bowl, hers to enjoy. Their sub 1-inch bodies insignificant to her own, titanic, frame. Cheap and disposable. They were nothing but bugs. Insignificant slaves for her to do with as she wished.
Sitting down at her computer desk, she grabbed a nearby container of milk.
“Okay, you shitty termites,” her hot breath blew over the crowd, “who’s ready for breakfast?”
Her words were followed quickly by a torrent of milk, drowning the crowd.
Looking down into the bowl, she smirked as the little people struggled to stay afloat. If they didn’t drown here, it would be in her stomach.
Taking a nearby spoon in her fingers, the computer screen shining off its chrome surface, she lowered it into the bowl.
From their milky prison, the tiny people watched the spoon approach, their own images reflected back to them in the light of the computer screen.
Dipping the utensil into the milk, the girl watched with pleasure as the spoon held by her svelt digits was filled with milk and miniatures.
Lifting the spoon from the bowl, she let the overflow milk drain.
Watching as the tiny people screamed from high above the bowl she held in her other hand, her tongue ran across her lips, moistening them in expectation of what was coming. Opening her mouth, she brought the spoon toward her awaiting maw.
Watching at the titanic mouth opened wide, the tiny people screamed knowing their fate was near. They peered inside the cave-like opening, dark except for the white teeth and saliva covered tongue illuminated by the computer screen. The humidity increasing, they were soon surrounded on all sides before being plunged into darkness.
Closing her mouth, the girl pulled the spoon slowly from her mouth, savouring the feeling of the tiny people being pushed onto her tongue. Their bodies mixing with the milk and providing a senseual tickle. Pulling the spoon free, she chewed a little, enjoying the crunch, before swallowing. The survivors pushed down her throat to her stomach.
Looking down at the bowl, the girl licked her lips again, tiny white specks dotting her tongue. Her spoon plunged eagerly for another helping.
Spoonful-by-spoonful, the bowl was emptied, filling her belly in the process.
Glancing down at the empty, black dish, she patted her stomach happily, a loud belch following.
Checking the news for a brief time and working on some art, she eventually rose from her desk, her deeply-tan skin dressed in a white t-shirt and orange panties, it was time to get ready for her day. Running her fingers through her black hair, her bare feet slapped against the floor as she walked to the shower, bringing a plastic bag with her.
Walking into the bathroom, she turned on the light. The fan working overtime to pull the humid, Thai air. Taking the plastic bag, she turned it upside down, pouring its contents on the bathroom counter. Not paying the squirming mass of people any attention, she stripped, yawning in the process. Turning her shower on, she let it warm briefly before grabbing a handful of termites. Lifting her left arm, she ground the people into her armpit, their bodies rubbed into her sweaty skin, her stubble scratching against them. Repeating the process with another handful, she stepped into the shower and washed.
Stepping from the shower 5 minutes later, she toweled off, walking out to her bedroom to get dressed; bringing her bag of termites with her.
Picking her wardrobe from the closet, she began her ritual.
Running a brush through her hair, she admired her reflection briefly. Her skin, deeply brown and hair a thick black. Thin and svelt, her c-cup breasts rested perfectly on her chest.
Grabbing a pair of underwear with one hand, her other grabbed another dozen or some little white bodies, dropping them onto cloth. Sliding the panties on, she enjoyed the feeling of the little bodies against her crotch, perfect to keeping her fresh and happy.
Slipping on a green t-shirt and yellow-shorts, her assemble was almost complete. Grabbing a pair of tennis shoes from under her bed, she situated them below, pouring in dozens of whites into each pair. They were better than socks in the hot, Thai summer.
Looking up from their canvas prisons, the termites could only watch as the feet lowered themselves. The tan soles wrinkled, but smooth, with the toes wriggling reflexively.
Sliding her right foot in first, she enjoyed the feelings of the pitiful bodies being crushed under her sole, with survivors squirming underfoot and between her toes. The little bugs would work hard to keep her feet dry, it was either that or to endure the smell.
Repeating the act with her left foot, she wiggled her toes with satisfaction, her tiny slaves smushed between her toes.
Walking out of her apartment, she made her way to the noisy street below. Her feet and crotch already perspiring heavily from the brief walk.
Moving past a produce stall, she stopped.
Amazed that the little whites seemed to be getting cheaper by the day, she grabbed two kg for lunch and to refresh her shoes.
Whistling happily to herself, she continued about her day, her shopping bag swinging from her hand…