After half an hour or so had stretched infinitely on, Brent noticed a change. Ms. Perkins’ foot had initially rested contentedly still atop his body. Now, her ped was no longer comatose. The sole so threateningly poised above Brent’s hapless frame gave way to rhythmic stretching and pulsing. Her arch deepened dramatically, briefly offering Brent a reprieve from the weight as the skin of her sole smoothed and firmed slightly, while the nylon pulled tighter over it.
In this instant, the tiny man gulped a lungful of air in the blackness. Almost immediately he regretted a breath that large, as his airways were now filled with the muggy fog of Ms. Perkins’ ripe aroma, flavored with almond-suggestive sweat and marinated leather grit. He coughed, writhing meekly, and then only by the occasional cracks of light which spilled in from the edges did he realize the fallout of the sole flex was impending.
The CEO’s sole scrunched inward on itself. Deep, pillowy creases formed in the hanging island of feminine flesh that was Ms. Perkins’ sole. Her pink skin seemed to swell by the second as it bore down harder against Brent. The meager air supply was flushed from his lungs as he was pancaked under his boss’s bulging foot. It felt like having mattresses laid atop his prone body in sequence, one after the other, until he was under a whole stack reached to the ceiling.
And then the process started anew. Again and again, in and out, up and down, Ms. Perkins flexed idly. Probably hard at work at her desk, making a couple thousand bucks an hour with a few keystrokes on her computer. Odds were, she’d forgotten about him, judging by the organic and mindless toying of her foot. Meanwhile Brent, rather sick of all the novelty of experience this morning, suffered greatly.
In fact, he was beginning to panic now. His breath hastened, causing him to huff the stenchy, unmoving air and nearly develop a high off it. How long had he been in here? An hour? Longer? What if noon never arrived, and instead he suffocated down here, just like he now suspected all the other misbehaving office drones did?
Stretching for all he was worth, Brent made an effort to locate the curved instep of Ms. Perkins’ foot. Small a chance though it was, maybe he could crawl atop her ped and better his chances of survival. Yet even by leaning all his limbs in every direction and rotating his body with great concentration, Brent touched only yet more of the seemingly endless mass of the giant woman’s buttery sole and accompanying damp nylon. Crawling any further was out of the question; he was simply marooned beneath Ms. Perkins’ mighty foot like a sailor lost on the ocean.
As the morning wore on, the glinting sunlight through those floor-length windows was beginning to take its toll on Ms. Perkins. Or rather, it was beginning to take its toll on Brent Tucker. He deduced the shifting light, because the once-scratchy and irritating material of the stockinged ceiling above him had turned moist in the meanwhile. Patches of salty wetness steadily appeared, squelched from the scrunched wrinkles of the enormous sole. All of them weighed ever-more down on Brent’s body.
In time, the dampened nylon hung like wadded chewing gum over the shrunken nude man. Struggling against it was useless and expended energy he needed to conserve for taking controlled, disgusting breaths of Ms. Perkins’ fleshy air. Fresh, gummy beads of sweat were beginning to drop now from her skin, faster than they could be absorbed by the stocking. Several plunked through and sopped into Byron’s skin, turning his hands pruny, as if he’d spent too long in the bathtub. He would’ve recoiled if it wasn’t simultaneously intoxicating as all-get-out.
Because perhaps the worst fact of this entire ordeal: worse, even, than the mere fact that he’d been shrunken and entrapped in his boss’s shoe beyond the reach of science or the law, was that Brent was really beginning to enjoy himself. At first he’d merely been titillated by the giant billboard-sized visage of Ms. Perkins’ foot. That titillation was temporarily put to rest, of course, when he discovered what she planned to do with him and survival kicked in.
But now the curiosity and wonderment of having his most private desires fulfilled, albeit one-hundredfold, was returning to overpower the fear. And though Brent was being battered under the treacherous weight of his boss’s immense foot, cooking in the humid air and soggy basin of her sweat, he was ashamed to notice he was sporting a half-mast erection, only held back from reaching full rise due to the ever-present threat of having it squashed by Ms. Perkins’ bucking sole.
Brent yelped with surprise as the weight of the woman’s sole yielded away from him in one forced sweep. Her foot was dragging itself out of the slingback heel. The sticky fibers of the nude nylon clung to his skin and nearly dragged Brent up too, if it weren’t for the equally-gooey insole of the shoe. Instead, he sagged from the fabric and rolled over in a tired, beet-red heap.
He didn’t have to wait long before those giant thumb and index fingertips were curling around his legs. Before he could object or make a sound, he was dangled upside-down from the woman’s slender digits. Ms. Perkins’ plucked her inch-tall employee out of her shoe and lifted him high into the air. Wind made Brent’s miniature eyes water. When at last he came to a stop, he shivered with terror to realize he was hovering the equivalent of hundreds of feet in the air: suspended only by Ms. Perkins’ powerful fingers over the floor.
“Well, would you look at that,” Ms. Perkins murmured. “It looks like you were right about the effect this might have on him, Larissa.” The pinky of her free hand rose into view and tapped lightly at Brent’s inverted form as he hung helplessly from her thumb. The bell-curve of her finger then grazed gently over the man’s regretfully excited member. He quivered at her taunting touch, desperately wanting it to return just as much as he desperately wanted to roll up and die from humiliation at this moment.
Wait. Did she say Larissa?
“I told you, Ms. Perkins!” a perky voice chimed in from somewhere unseen. “Seriously, if I had a dollar for every time I’ve caught Brent checking it out when I just happened to take off my shoes under the desk, I could probably be you by now!”