Through white halls, under the cool heat of florescent ceiling lights, he ran. His thick glasses shook, while a brown, slicked back hairdo flopped from his heavy foot falls. Sweat stained a white button down shirt, although his perspiration was not exclusively due to exertion.

A middle-aged face was twisted in anguished anticipation. The man’s physique was clearly not attuned to consistent physical activity. There was a slight bulge in his belly that oscillated from his motions.

He finally came to a stop before bending over. Stainless steel double doors loomed over him. Above the frame of the doorway lay official text reading “Lift to Melissa Engel’s office”.

A shaky hand pressed a button upon a panel right next to the entrance. Immediately, the heavy doors slid open in automated fashion. He trudged through, entering a dimly lit elevator. Its control panel displayed only one other option than the ground level. A thumb toggled the appropriate button, causing it to glow with a warm yellow luminescence once pressed.

Immediately, the doors to the elevator sealed shut. His black business shoes were pressed into the ground, as momentum forced him down while the lift ascended.

The man did not bother to idle. A white napkin was retrieved from his breast pocket, then dabbed upon his glistening forehead. Nervous eyes veered about, though there was no one else. Every meter of altitude gained by the elevator only sent his heart into an even louder cadence.

A ding signified that his destination had been reached. His pudgy hand adjusted his own soggy collar, which clung tightly to a rather thick neck. He was hit by a cool breeze as the steel doors revealed what lay beyond.

He had not entered a mere room, but a vast atrium. The ceiling, clean, sleek, and lined with fine, circular light fixtures, could have been at cloud level. Massive glass panels made up distant walls to his left and to his right. As the man trudged forward, the surface his shoes trudged upon was of a rich, dark, glossy wood. It was a platform that clearly lay a good distance above where the actual base of the room would be.

The surface he found himself on was not unoccupied. He found himself underneath the shadow of a massive cylindrical tower, made of metal strung together in a crossing pattern. Long, thin objects stuck

out from the top. If he squinted his eyes, he would see that they resembled some form of gargantuan writing utensils.

This was due to the fact that they were indeed, gargantuan pens, fit for a titan.

The man peered to the side again. Great windows allowed a view of a sunny vista outside. At least, it would have, if someone was not blocking his view.

This someone towered over the platform. So much so, that the wooden terrain lay even with her stark black business skirt. Meanwhile, her torso cast a long silhouette, clad in a dark gray executive’s jacket, outfitted with broad, sharply-angled shoulders. A frilly white blouse lay underneath, each button struggling to contain the substantial curves of her chest.

A married man, he dared not to linger his gaze upon her breast for long. However, this subjected him to a most imposing sight, a deadly, unforgiving glare of two narrow, ice-blue eyes that could have frozen hell itself solid.

He became immediately aware that the ground he tread upon was not still. Several rhythmic tremors shook his legs, not that his own fragile nerves were not trying their best to do so first.

Looking ahead of him allowed him to quickly identify what had shaken the mahogany floor. A pale hand the size of a small residence, hovered above the glossy terrain, allowing a single finger to stretch down. The finger, an imposing structure in of itself of which even the tip was formidable when compared to the man’s entire being, rose and fell, tapping on the surface he stood upon.

His gait ceased, and he stood directly underneath the CEO’s shadow. At once, he found it difficult to maintain his own balance. It was as if gravity had been intensified, weighing each of his limbs down. His shoulders bent while his neck slumped as it attempted to support his thick cranium. The weight of this woman’s gaze, however, was a sufficient explanation for such a phenomenon.

A low, cold voice was uttered from thin lips, “Our orders for the new batch of supplies were to be sent out this morning. The client has gotten impatient.”

There was a fresh new layer of sweat which found its way upon his forehead, yet the man did not bother to wick it away. “I-I've compiled the submission and calculated the projections, Miss,” he stammered, attempting to find some escape from her searing glare, “All we're awaiting is for the order to be processed to be sent out.”

Melissa folded her arms, sending her dark, chestnut, shoulder-length hair into a bit of a wave. “You've already completed the report? I wasn't notified, why is that?”

The man found a partition of spittle to swallow after the accusation was made, “I- I was in a hurry, and I know that our deadline was approa-”

Another pale hand was held up. Its form almost blocked out the man’s view of his boss. Melissa’s tone slightly relented, allowing just a bit of sunshine within her timbre fit for a tundra, “I merely require you to include me on the notifications. This will allow me to address any problems more directly. See that you do not forget.”

His head almost bobbed as he enthusiastically agreed, “Yes ma'am!”

Silence permeated the room. Melissa’s thin lips remained still. Meanwhile, the trembling office worker found himself rooted in place, as if several invisible screws had drilled through his black dress shoes into the polished wooden surface beneath. In an ill-advised move, his eyes remained on her own. It was frightening in of itself, as he felt his mind become a hallowed-out wreck while he fixated upon her fiery-cold visage, a projection of domineering authority. Sweat poured down his face, as if he had just exited the gym after an arduous workout.

Finally, the quiet had been broken, for the man let out a squeal as he toppled over. Melissa’s pale finger had smashed down a mere foot or two next to him. While no harm came to him directly, the sheer force dispersed from the impact zone was enough to land him on his rear.

“Why are you standing around?” she scolded rhetorically, “I require nothing further of you. You are dismissed.”

The man’s limbs flailed as he scrambled to get to his feet. Once he did so, his legs could not carry him swiftly enough out.

Melissa’s looming glare followed him out, out through a small door in the wall. It was the only entrance to her office for those lacking her stature. All the same, it allowed the normal sized to visit her desk in a most literal sense.

A ringing klaxon then took her attention. She witnessed a red blinking light upon her work phone. With swift grace, her hands gripped the device, pulling it from its port. The phone itself was cordless, allowing her to wander from the desk as she communicated with the one on the other side.

A gruff, yet feminine voice blared through the speaker, causing Melissa to wince ever so slightly, “Hey lady, you've got any updates on the stuff? We're basically loitering out here on the job!”

“You know of the difficulties in acquiring and securing scaled up supplies for giantess construction projects.” Melissa responded, her own inflection almost mechanical in nature, “There is the matter of volatile costs, transportation...”

“Yeah yeah yeah, what's happened?” interrupted most baudily the woman on the other side, “You guys are usually quicker on the draw with this! We've never had to wait this long before.”

“We are currently in the middle of a serious backlog,” the ceo explained, without missing a beat, “I would ask for your patience with us in sorting out these matters. You will receive an update once we have addressed your issue.”

The rough woman merely lamented, “Whatever you say.”

Melissa pulled her phone away, for she sensed the operator on the other end hung up with the grace of a bull.

“Ungrateful brute,” she snarled.

The colossal CEO was far more delicate in her handling of her device, setting it carefully back, until it clicked in its own socket.

Her black suit ruffled as she folded her arms. Eyeing the window to the outside, she beheld a great urban vista. Roads crisscrossed in an organized grid, hosting a good amount of traffic at their intersections. Buildings, short, stout, lean and tall occupied each block. There were of course, several metal panels over a fraction of the streets, allowing those of Melissa’s stature to venture where they needed to go with minimal property damage.

She became aware that another had entered her office, this time, through the front entrance. While the woman who had rushed through was comparable to Melissa, the executive possessed nearly a head and a half advantage over the panting newcomer.

Her square, black-edged spectacles slid down her nose, for her head was hung over. Locks of light brown hair that were not secured by her tight bun fell over her face. Upon gazing upward, only to make eye-contact with her superior’s imposing demeanor, big, soft brown eyes widened and trembled behind their glass guards. A trembling finger pushed the eye-ware up the bridge of her nose after straightening her posture.

“I'm sorry Miss! I can't do it! I'm a failure at my job!” she declared. Melissa could observe tears rolling out of her eyes as she began to dissolve into hysterics.

Melissa’s consul was nothing, if not direct, “I don't want sob stories, I want specifics.”

Between great sniffs of her nose, the babbling secretary explained, “Our computer, the pedal, it just won't ... I must have broke it ... we'll never get out the reports because of me! I'm...”

A torrent of tears rushed out from her eyes, wetting her beige, button-up blouse. Even her name tag, labeled “Serena”, could not escape the downpour. Her knee-length pencil-skirt began waving as she wavered. Bending over, her face was buried into her hands.

“That accursed machine!” Melissa sneered, appearing indifferent to her secretary’s sorrows, “I should contact my lawyers, I'll give Colossal Computing a legendary lawsuit for their troubles!”

Her eyes then narrowed at the sobbing secretary, witnessing her rather curvaceous form crumple and ball up.

A sharp yell exited the CEO, “Dismissed! Get out of here!”

In a voice tainted by tears, Serena complied, “I'll pack my things an-“

“Vacate this room now!” Melissa clarified with a near-hiss, “And don't bother thinking you're fired, I still have use for you.”

Serena immediately ceased crying. A relieved smile broke over her face, puffing up her swollen, reddened cheeks. Glass door swung open, but just before she exited she shouted out, “Thank you ma'am!”

The entrance hissed shut, leaving Melissa alone. A hand was placed upon her forehead, allowing her fingers to circle her temples. As she settled upon the only viable option, the CEO found her eyes waving from the left to the right, as if checking any other would be observing her in secret.

She thumbed a chrome button upon her vast desk. Immediately, the rather minuscule doors leading to her desk were locked.

Her hand then veered to a black switch next to the button, and flipped it. Immediately, the glass, allowing her to view to the rest of the workspace began to dim and grow opaque. Melissa then rose from her rather vast chair, upholstered most richly with black leather. Her brisk pace brought her to the window. Pulling on a string allowed blinders to fall. Twisting a clear plastic pole allowed her to angle the blinds as to block out all light entering her office.

A sigh exited her mouth, while her face slumped into an expression of resignation. Her tall, imposing form had wavered back to the desk, allowing her waist to rest against the edge.

The accursed phone that had greeted her with the unpleasantness of the complaining construction worker lay staring back at her. Thin lips began trembling as a hand began gliding towards the device. Upon grasping the speaker in her long digits, Melissa’s opposite hand dialed in the appropriate phone number.

Heavy breaths exited her mouth in anticipation as the signal pinged the appropriate receiver. Two sequences of rings occurred, before she could discern the sound of a phone being picked up from the other side.

A voice that sent her heart into a flutter and color into her pale skin nearly sang out his words from the speaker.

“Hello! Dylan's tech repair, how may I help you?”

Melissa’s own speech had notably softened, lacking its icy, sharp edge. One could even detect a slight texture of honey as she spoke.

“Hello,” she replied, “This is Dylan speaking?”

The voice on the other side gained an aspect of playfulness, as the man on the other side inquired, “And may I ask what our most beautiful customer is in need of?”

Shades of plush crimson were painted on her cheeks. A small squeal escaped her. Legs covered in dark nylon quivered in utter excitement.

Luckily, the executive was able to compose herself. Shaking her head, allowing her long mane of chestnut brown hair to wave, she began to explain, “Dear, our computer's giving us trouble again, the pedal-”

“Say no more honey!” the voice of Dylan chirped, “I'm on my way!”

“Love you dear!” Melissa declared with glee.

“You too!”

Once she heard Dylan terminate his connection, Melissa breathed out a sigh of relief. Slumping down, she put a hand to her forehead, while setting the phone back into its socket. After a few deep inhales, each of greater silence than the last, she found her face set back into its stoic mask.

...

The office space was a small amphitheater, at least, to those wandering its halls. Several large cubes blocked off the area in a grid-like manner. Woman thundered in between, few in number. Within these boxes, through several viewing ports, were cubicles of a rather small size. Personal of appropriate height could be observed within, going about with the usual hustle of the workday.

Black tiles lined the floors. Between these normal-sized areas, were several lines of transparent material. To and from the various cubic partitions, the comparatively tiny workers raced within. Occasionally, their walkway would be under the shadow of a shoe belonging to a giantess. Aside from some new hires and interns, this phenomenon appeared to be rather mundane to the rest of the workforce.

Within a break area, there stood two. For them, it was rather cramped, although to an average man, the room would have been positively enormous. Serena was hunched over a table, supporting her generous torso with both elbows. Her eyes were still puffed from sorrows, although her cheeks had notably resumed their usual rosy color.

This was of course, hard to observe, for her face had been buried in her hands. Her distress, however, had clearly lingered, despite her dismissal from Melissa’s office.

“She's going to be tired of me, someday!” she lamented, her own voice muffled by her impeding digits.

“Relax,” consoled her peer. She was leaning against one of the cabinets with crossed legs and folded arms. Her manner of dress resembled that of an executive, sporting a gray blazer over a dark purple shirt that was cut low enough to spark the imagination. She flipped her black hair back, in order so that the heavy bangs would stay clear of almond-shaped amber eyes.

“I've been in the doghouse with her the most out of anyone in this company,” she elaborated, her voice marked with a confident drawl, “The lady's just ice cold. I don't like it, heck, would love it if she'd let in a pleasant word or two this century. But she ain't gonna fire you. That machine's a glorified potato anyways! What did you even do to it?”

Serena remained committed to lingering in an agonized state, “Alexia, I - I can't keep messing up at this rate.”

The woman named Alexia huffed, shooting her coworker an intense amber glare, “C'mon Serena, put your chin up! It may not look it, but she's trying to get the best out of you.”

The secretary widened her eyes, before allowing her heard to rise. With a look of befuddlement, she made eye-contact with Alexia, “H-how do you-”

“Oh I gave icy Messi a piece of my mind!” the woman bragged, straightening her posture, “You gotta coax it outta her. With dynamite and a crowbar.”

A rhythmic clacking sound made itself known. Both women stood at attention, as if a military officer were passing through. The imposing form of their boss flew by, her brisk pace made all the more apparent by the sound of black stilettos upon the office floor. Once visible within the break room, however, her momentum came to an abrupt halt.

Tucked under her shoulder was a rather large binder of documents. The layers of pages proved innumerable to count. Cold blue eyes rested upon Serena, who let out a small squeal as a result.

“Serena,” Melissa began, presenting her the folder, with expectant ceremony, “Process these for me. I will deal with this problem we have.”

Her gaze dropped to absolute zero as she veered towards Serena’s coworker.

“Alexia, stop wasting her time.”

Not another word was said as Melissa made her exit with the same vigor as before. Once her back was turned, Alexia made her response, holding up a hand that kept all fingers down except for one.

Outside, a bird flipped in the sky.

Eyeing the folder, Serena nevertheless contemplated, “She was looking rather distraught after I left.”

Alexia rolled her eyes, “Oh, probably talking to her husband.”

This elicited a surprised gasp from the secretary, “She's marr-”

“-Yeah,” interjected the black-haired woman, “But she goes out of her way not to even mention him. Hell, I think he's been in this building, but she keeps her distance.”

After a distant gaze of consideration, she concluded, “Must be an unhappy marriage.”

Alexia too, had decided she had to resume her duties. Shooting Serena a rather kind smile, she headed through the entrance. As she passed over a transparent passage for the regular sized, a poisonous grin formed upon her mouth. With a step heavier than the rest, she allowed a dark brown, high-heeled sandal to slam down upon the walkway. Though all that passed through were unharmed, many lost their balance. No matter their work experience within the company, all doubled their pace upon realizing exactly who it was that had disturbed their transit.

...

Melissa’s hand turned the handle to a rather large beige-colored door. Significant effort was required to swing it open, yet the executive managed.

The room she entered proved far less refined than the main area of the office building. Instead of reflective black or white tiles lining the floor, what she stood on was a uniform gray that absorbed the florescent light shining from above. The ceiling sported several pipes and wires coursing through, including those leading to the overhanging fixtures.

Of interest was what lay in the center of the room. Propped up on a stout desk lay a bulky, cream-colored box. A black screen was framed by this box’s light exterior. It appeared to bulge out, if to accommodate the cathode rays that would illuminate what it needed to show. A keyboard of a comparable light color was splayed before the screen.

The computer, however, did not possess a handheld mouse. Instead, occupying the space below was a simple, foot-sized cushioned pedal. Lying next to it was a prism-shaped case, tainted a smarmy teal. Several lights, red and green, blinked upon its front panel.

It was what ran in between these two structures that drew Melissa’s attention. A minuscule shape raced across the floor. As she approached, there was no doubt it was the form of a man. A floppy mop of dirty blonde hair waved from his motions. He was dressed in a heavy blue jacket and matching pants. A young, boyish face was gripped in concentration, while bright green eyes memorized the scene around him.

His activities did not cease, as he continued to exchange his attentions between the massive computing box, and the mouse pedal. Melissa did not allow a word to escape her as she crouched down, feeling her pantyhose stretch against her knees, and her skirt tighten around her thighs. Her steady breathing crawled to a lethargic tempo while her gaze remained captured by the minuscule man.

As he began testing and inspecting the springs within the pedal, she could not help but take note of a slight shimmy within his hips. A squeal of delight escaped her. One of her hands extended, racing towards where he worked. Her index finger, which proved to be nearly four times his height, settled upon his head, utterly blanketing it in flesh.

“Whoa!” squeaked the man, almost falling over.

Melissa’s pale complexion was rendered a beet red as her finger was quickly retracted.

“Sorry dear!” she apologized, “You just look so adorable when you work!”

Dylan faced the now-blushing CEO, and flashed her a massive smile. A spare hand, coated with sweat and oil, tussled the back of his head.

His smile vanished as he began to explain, “I have to admit, I ain't made headway on this. One of the springs is totally rusted! I'll need a replacement and you should be good to go!”

Melissa frowned, “Won't there be some time before the part gets here?”

“Yeah,” Dylan confirmed, “About a day.”

The executive shook her head, “I'm sorry honey, I just don't have that time. Surely you can think of a quick fix before the part comes in.”

Dylan shot the foot-mouse a resentful glare, “You should probably replace this piece of junk,” he suggested, motioning towards the accursed device, “They've gotten a lot better with giantess-scaled computing in the past couple of years. Considering your company's in the black now, it shouldn't be too much.”

A finger ran across Melissa’s lips, as she mused, “It would be nice.”

Her mouth then formed into a pout while a voice with the sickly stain of honey playfully lamented, “But then, I wouldn't see you as much.”

Warmth spread within the comparatively tiny man’s chest, He gave her his widest smile yet, “Aw gee honey! You're turning me red!”

His grin slowly faded. Dylan’s lips tightened, making quite apparent the dimples that marked his cheeks. Brilliant green eyes scrutinized the pedal before him. In particular, they lingered upon the troubled area identified earlier. The crucial spring had been removed. Despite its size, the effort to do so was not so great on Dylan’s part. In some ways, he had become quite familiar with the workings of Melissa’s old machine.

A light illuminated his expression. Slowly, he brought up a hand, supporting his chin. “Wait, yeah...” he worded almost instinctively.

Melissa watched Dylan scurry back under the desk. In particular, she payed attention to his swiftly moving legs as they raced across the floor. A bead of sweat fell from her forehead, despite the fact the computer room was kept at a cool operating temperature.

He had soon exited her viewpoint. Melissa could crouch further down to inspect what he was up to, yet decided against doing so. She discerned several small shuffles of tiny moving parts. No doubt, her own husband had a part to playin this.

Soon, Dylan entered her view again. Wrapped around his arm was a twine of rather thin white string with green stripes. To the tiny technician, however, the string was akin to a substantial rope.

He began working around the pedal. Frantic hands scurried up its dark surface, sinking into the padded cushion. He would then disappear, weaving through the jungle of metal and plastic that gave form and function to the pedal’s operation. ‘Round and round he traveled, until coming to rest upon the foam cushion on top of the device.

As Dylan worked, Melissa saw fit to power up the machine. The black screen flashed white, before text raced across its vantage. An idle stiletto tapped upon the cold ground while the machine began its bootup processes.

Upon each of Dylan’s wrist, both ends of the string were tied. There was a decent amount of slack in each strand. With little strain, he closed both arms towards his center, as if operating a chest workout machine. A small click registered, resulting in a brief smile flashing across his face. Up above, he could hear a gasp exit his wife.

“I don't know what you did,” she announced, in a giddy tone, “But I see the mouse is active. You did it honey!”

Dylan tested the slack of the ropes once more. “Eh, it's a very spitball and duct-tape solution. I'll have to be here to man the mouse. If you press down as you normally do, that should do the trick if you wanna click on something. Just mind how much pressure your using, I’m not a piece of foam or plastic.”

Melissa nodded, not knowing whether her husband could even perceive such an action from his vantage, “I only need the computer for a short time ... but ...”

A shadow of caution had entered her voice, “… Surely there isn't another way? I mean, you'll be fine right?”

“If you're doing the pressing honey,” Dylan reassured, “I'll be more than fine!”

Another bout of blushes stained Melissa’s cheeks. She felt her thumbs twiddle at her waist, while her feet angled inward.

Keeping her eye on the minuscule form trapped against the mouse pad, Melissa gingerly stepped forward. Her fingers fully extended, ready to man the computer’s keyboard.

All Dylan could perceive of the executive were her nylon covered legs, stretching into the sky above. Melissa’s thighs, full, yet defined, disappeared into her black skirt, much like a trail of gas stripped from a star only to be consumed by a black hole. Down upon the ground lay her feet, contained by sharp black stilettos. The heels supporting her footwear were not unusually lengthy in proportion, yet to Dylan, they created an arch he could have easily driven several cars under.

This structure was then lifted up. It appeared miraculous that such a massive object, the size of a decently affordable property, could even be suspended in the air. The stiletto hovered towards his position, casting a shadow over Dylan, as an imposing UFO would. Nylon material folded and stretched over flexed calves as they shifted. The tiny technician found himself swallowing a clump of spittle upon witnessing such a gargantuan event close up.

Not for long, he found himself underneath the stilleto’s tread. Unlike the rest of the heel, the tread was a tan color. It was textured with small, even ridges. Dark scuffs and slight areas of caked dirt stained the bumpy terrain. Slowly, the bottom of her sole fell.

Dylan wondered if seeing the sky fall would evoke a similar sensation. His arms tensed, for he too, would run around in the same manner as the offending chicken, screaming his head off. With little ceremony, the bottom tread made contact. It was made from stiff, stern material. Pressure from the foot turned his face to the side. Force compressed every inch of his body. Foam surrounded him, as her weight had pressed him into the padded surface of the pedal.

Instinct forced him to try to bringing his arms together. Incidentally, this produced the clicking signal Melissa had sought. Immediately, she released her foot’s hold on the pedal, and by extension, Dylan.

Quickly, she checked under the desk; eyes wide with concern. “Dylan?” she asked, “I'm not pressing too hard, am I?”

His face red from burden, nevertheless glowed with an ecstatic glint. “I can take whatever you give me honey!”

With a slow nod, Melissa pressed on. Several mouse clicks allowed her to bring up the necessary documents Serena had left unprocessed.

While she exercised caution and efficiency with her motions, Dylan still struggled underneath the significant weight that was still required to even move the pedal. Each press reintroduced him most intimately with her treads. He felt his face turn purple as her sole dug into his entirety. Next to it, he truly was something puny. In fact, the area of the front of her stiletto could have provided enough square feet for a spacious room.

Each time her foot drew back, a deep red mark would be etched upon his face. The treading pattern was making itself known upon him. Pain, bright and gaudy, screamed at him each time pressure was relieved, but Dylan opened not his mouth.

Melissa’s discerning eye took note, as the documents on screen began their agonizingly lengthy processing, that what she viewed was most expertly formatted. She made an obscure note to herself to include such praise in the IT team’s upcoming review.

Still, she felt her fingers grip the keyboard as the agonizing wait stretched seconds into minutes. Upon completion of each page, she found herself far too enthusiastically slamming down upon the pedal. Perhaps within the depths of her mind, she legitimately thought the use of such force would hasten the computer’s cycling.

This change was noticed by Dylan, as his wife’s stilettos began aggressively assaulting him. Each press brought him deeper into the pedal’s foamy surface. This was not enough to alleviate the enormous executive’s incomprehensible weight she could bring to bear. Muscles screamed in pain, while bones groaned, forced into unusual positions.

After a particularly nasty press, in which Dylan felt a few ribs crack, he let out a scream, but was silenced by Melissa’s imposing tread, bloodying his mouth. Lamentations he held could only be heard within. Yet, such a simple task of merely pressing a pedal had pushed his body to the limit. The pain, however, was not the only unbearable aspect to his current predicament.

Whenever he would get a chance to breathe, Dylan noticed that his trousers hugged his waist in a tighter manner than usual. While bouts with crushing heels had dulled his train of thought, he had begun realizing exactly what was the cause of this.

There was a noticeable bulge within his pants. The heavy duty material had tented around something stiff and study that lay within his thighs. He found it hard to justify why exactly this had occurred. But, in all the pain he had experienced, apparently, where the sun dared not show itself, something else had registered.

Green eyes gazed up at his wife’s face. It lay at a great distance. He could even swear there was atmospheric haze clouding some of the finer details. Melissa’s eyes were glued to the screen. Her brow had notably furrowed, and within her pale blue orbs, there was a phenomenon that could be described as fury lurking within. Her brown hair flowed lusciously in a wavy manner, down behind her shoulders, impeded by her sharp executive’s blazer.

That blazer bulged substantially at her chest area. In fact, her substantial curves threatened to obscure her expression that hovered so far away. Below such a generous tracts of land, her torso slimmed, leading to a nicely slim waist.

Then the skirt, her coy black skirt, so adept at casting in shadow what he knew he desired. Stocky thighs, wider than a highway, or even two, loomed as impossible tree trunks that could house obscure hermits, and tribal denizens. They led to calves that bulged and jutted behind. All were cast in a tight black cover, silky pantyhose that left just the hint of her pale, smooth skin visible.

Dylan’s trousers could not help but tighten further.

As she smashed down upon him, again and again, testing his constitution to the very limit, Melissa found herself focusing more on what lay in front of her, instead of below her. All that occupied her thoughts were frustration at a defunct piece of technology. This mundane emotion had Dylan’s life at her mercy.

He could have let out a cry for help, instead, a stifled moan escaped him.

“This infernal pedal's working fine,” Melissa fumed above, her voice rattling the terrain around him, “But the processing is as abysmal as ever.”

The pedal was stabbed again, this time, by the end of her heel. A great spire of material careened towards Dylan. It’s radius at the end was half his height, yet such an object had the full mass of his wife driving it. Her heel crashed into his legs.

Yells of pain and pleasure was the result of this, yet Melissa gave no indication she could hear him. His legs, trapped under such concentrated pressure, he fully expected to be rendered into much. Yet, the infernal bulge that had tormented him so had escaped, instead, rubbing against the top of the heel.

A scream of frustration was let out, as he struggled against his binds. Even with the heel against him, Dylan felt his hips begin to rock. Within his briefs, the man knew that his undergarments were no longer dry.

Melissa let out a triumphant sigh, for finally, the last report was processing. She allowed her foot to rest against the pedal that had caused her too much grief that day. Occasionally, she saw fit to lightly tap it.

While her playful taps provided a respite for Dylan’s anguish, another form of torment had been advanced. Even an object, nay, a plain as great as her tan-colored sole, could rub him the wrong way. Tears began to flow down his eyes. In a pure act of depraved instinct, he began to stick out his tongue whenever the stiletto would linger on him, wicking away dirt and scum that had accrued between ridges.

Once the notification had been sent that the final report had been sent, Melissa sent her shoe down in one last triumphant crash, exiting the program. Dylan was hit with such a great force, his own dignified resistance had been crushed. His hips thrust against his wife’s sole, until he sensuously soiled his trousers.

Her husbands actions at last, compelled a quizzical look from Melissa. Narrow eyes widened as she took her foot off of the problematic pedal.

The executive’s vast heart hurt her chest with every beat, as she lay witness to her husband’s dilapidated form upon the pedal. Tears lay on the verge of wetting her eyes as she gazed at his anguished face and battered body. Her husband was indeed intact, and alive, but that was the only positive she could derive.

Even the sight of a most unusual dark spot that stained the crotch of his pants did not dissuade her sorrows.

In an outburst that would have embarrassed her own secretary, she cried, “Oh! I'm sorry dearest! I'm so stupid and forgetful! I-”

“Honey...” he heaved, words barely able to escape him “I ah ... I-”

There was a sound of collision, namely, a body slamming into the thick gray entrance to the computer. The culprit soon turned out to be Serena, her once tight bun now disheveled, while glasses lay at an awkward angle across her eyes. She let out several heaves, forcing her most buxom chest to rise and fall as the waves of the ocean would. Within her arms lay the substantial file Melissa had burdened her with earlier that day.

The executive immediately stood straight up, not even bothering addressing her distressed husband. Her motion was akin to a spring being released, occurring completely on its own, with little deliberation. Meanwhile, Melissa’s expression, once labored with sorrow and regret, had now been rendered its usual blank slate. Compassionate eyes grew icey, cold and piercing, enough so she could have stabbed her secretary with a glare alone.

“Miss,” Serena squeaked, shaking Melissa out of her trance, “the computer's working right?”

A thin hand brushed through her chestnut mane, sending a couple of luscious locks flying in the air. Melissa’s eyes veered back to the computer, which was now at her back. As Serena began to maneuver towards it, the executive, in an unconscious act, would impede her path to the machine.

“Indeed,” she confirmed, “But it's only a temporary solution. Surely, you don't have a use for it?”

Serena shook her head rapidly, “Some of the documents you gave me need to be faxed to our vendors! I need to get this done now! I don't wanna be late.”

Too bad. There was every reason to shoot down her secretary’s request. In fact, the words lay at the tip of her tongue. But, as she peered into Serena’s own brown eyes, she witnessed nothing but desperation.

If I don’t allow her this small triumph after what has happened today, will she ever recover?

Melissa found herself eyeing down Serena, taking in her pencil skirt, which flowed over her bare legs, down to her own footwear. Serena wore a pair of open-toed mules, colored a deep brown. Five toes peered through each, their nails colored a soft pink. Thick, ridged heels propped the ends of her feet up, adding a few (giant) inches to the comparatively short woman, although it was not enough to see eye-to-eye with her boss.

As she glared at her feet, Melissa felt her brow furrowing, and her heartbeat accelerate. One of the hands at her side began clenching into a fist.

“Serena, look at the pedal.”

Melissa veered out of the way, allowing her secretary a clear vantage. A gasp squeaked out of the nervous woman as her gaze fell upon the battered form of Dylan strapped against the foot mouse.

“T-there's a man on there!” she most poignantly noticed.

“He's our technician, this was the only way to make sure the machines functions properly.” Melissa explained.

A shadow fell over her eyes. “As you can see, such an activity has tested him. I will allow you to use the machine if he feels up to it. If not, you will have to exercise patience until a more permanent solution is found.”

Her icy gaze fell upon her spent husband, still straining from the residual effects of the gauntlet of pain and pleasure he had suffered. Dylan tested his aching joints, and was aware of one or two ribs that were not intact. His breath was pained, while his lungs still felt as if they were compressed.

There was every reason to refuse. The words were at the tip of his tongue. Yet, when he felt himself under his wife’s glare, staring up at her imposing form with a stature that could scrape the sky itself, he felt his throat go dry, and catch whatever he had to say. From her cold, piercing glare, to her ominous dark, yet sharp manner of dress, she embodied the very authority of a mighty executive; the master of his puny life.

Something within his trousers began to stir once more.

“I can handle it, don’t worry.”

Melissa did her best to not betray any shock. She wished to reprimand him right there, to shut down this suicidal undertaking he had committed himself to. But, it would be his word, the man who operated the machine, who bore all the pain for the sake of her company, against her own.

“Don't make me come back to a red puddle.” she ordered, drawing close to her secretary. She allowed her superior height to give weight to her words, “You will be fired if so, not to mention legal charges.”

A wad of spittle was subsequently swallowed by the nervous woman.

“Yes ma’am.”

The executive placed a hand on her hip, “I have other duties to administer to. I will be back to assess the machine, and our technician.”

She entered a brisk walk, towards the exit. Upon placing her hand on the door handle, she peered back over her shoulder, watching Serena man the machine. She allowed doubt to cloud her sure glare, before pulling the door open.

Serena’s a good girl. Dylan will be fine. At least, he better be.

As the secretary stood in front of the machine, memorizing the already occupied screen, she muttered to her self, “Okay, okay, don't mess up.”

Stout fingers moved quickly across the keyboard, sending rhythmic taps echoing around the room. Her efforts required her to close and open windows, and thus, the bottom of her mule was brought to bear against the mouse pedal.

From Dylan’s vantage, while he considered his wife a most voluptuous creature, it was clear the woman standing above him now proved far more endowed than his beloved. Smooth calves with little blemish bulged out with a softness that he could have sunk into without a trace. Her skirt could not hide her thighs, massive destroyers that could serve as a landscape in of themselves. Notably, the secretary had not considered that men of Dylan’s stature were advantaged as such in the ways of unwanted observation, which was why he could behold a stripped strip of cloth that provided just the barest sense of modesty.

Luckily, the technician needed not to shield his eyes, for the shadow of Serena’s mule proved sufficient. He could not detect any notable tread on the bottom. All he could view was a thick sole which gave a sufficient platform for her feet to be elevated upon.

Soon, all light had been blocked out. Her sole was the entire ceiling, stretching beyond infinity. As the great plain of her mule fell upon him, Dylan could only brace himself.

Her first effort was clumsy. Initially, her mule pummeled Dylan into the padding, stealing all of his breath away. Notably, however, after a few seconds, Serena let up, as if she just remembered what exactly she was doing when she pressed the pedal. Her sole appeared to be made of a softer material. Compared to his wife’s unyielding stiletto, even at her worst, Serena’s earth-shattering mass proved more bearable.

That being said, Serena did not exercise as much restraint as her boss when operating the machine. Her trained motions fell upon Dylan in an unrelenting manner, as if instinct and routine had overridden her sense of caution.

In between agonizing presses, Dylan found a chance to squeak out, “Ma'am, you’re pressing-”

Immediately, the secretary shrank back, “Oh! Sorry I'm sor-”

Yet, her bespectacled eyes caught sight of something most peculiar. While the diminutive man’s clothes had become wrinkled and ragged, a suspicious stain sat within the middle of his pants. Clear as day, lay the dark spot, revealed by the enhanced giantess eye.

A nervous finger extended, “Eh .. you had a little...”

The technician gave out a surprised, “Oh!”

Under a gaze straight from the sky, he sought to avoid any form of eye contact, as he justified, “Uh, I might need a bathroom break.”

A nervous chuckle punctuated the tall tale from the mouth of the short man.

“Is that so?” inquired the secretary. Dylan had noticed her tone lost some of its nervous inflection. In fact, there appeared to be very little inflection within her voice, as if the words themselves were as contrived as his explanation.

Serena lifted her foot once more, her mighty mule blocking out all fluorescent illumination from the ceiling high above. Yet, the descent of her monolithic footwear proved far more deliberate. Dylan wondered if a great alien craft landing upon the unexplored Earth would grant a similar impression. Surely, such a paltry expression of superior extraterrestrial technology would lack the sheer power and scale that this mere secretary’s mighty foot possessed.

As the tread made contact with him again, Dylan was not forced into the confines of the pedals cushioning as before. Indeed, while he could sense the infinite mass trapped behind the smooth terrain that caressed his tired form, a sense of restraint prevented her weight from being fully brought to bear upon him. The mule began moving across his body, the material of its sole rubbing up against his face, tussling his hair and kneading his clothes. In a way, it was as if the leviathan of a work shoe was massaging him.

Under her mule’s tender trample, Dylan realized that one part of his body remained uncomfortably active.

“Do you like it?”

The secretary’s voice was completely unlike that of what came before. It was tainted with seductive nectar, almost in the same manner of honey that his wife loved to talk to him with. But there was an element, something evocative of a siren, or a forbidden tree in the garden of paradise, that provoked Dylan’s resistance.

“Is that why you came up with this?”

Serena’s eyelids had fallen halfway. Her lips were pursed, as if her maw was bragging of their luscious nature. Despite Dylan’s exhaustion, his heartbeat was rapidly accelerating. While nearly all of his limbs felt numb, he knew of at least one area where blood-flow was not an issue.

Blonde locks waved in the air as Dylan shook his head, “N-Wait!”

Down came Serena’s mule once more. Her heel was the first to impact the foam surface of the pedal, before the shoe rolled forward. The bottom of her mule advanced like an approaching wave, swallowing up the terrain before him. Soon, Dylan found his legs underneath her succulent pressure. Next was his waist, made all the more agonizing by his restless hormones. His torso, then his head soon followed, until he lay completely smothered by the secretary.

His wife’s spineless underling had completely captured him with nothing but her shoe.

Occasionally, she would allow him some semblance of relief. Her mule would agitate him with a light tap, light in that it would slam into him with the force of a truck, not like a locomotive had the woman showed less caution.

“My boss's mean feet must have been frighting!” Serena sympathized, “Here you poor thing, I'll take good care of you!”

At this point, her thoughts had completely betrayed her work. The secretary’s attention was now completely devoted to the man underneath her. A warm blush formed on her round cheeks. She brought a finger to her mouth, as her tender affections continued.

While the bottom of her shoes were of a synthetic, cold, soulless manufacture, Dylan could not help but be receptive. Most certainly, the plump feet that were housed within the mules, the size of a full sized house, were of indescribable warmth.

“You've been a real good boy,” Serena mused, “It must have been hard, getting mashed under our big scary shoes! I think you deserve a little reward.”

 “R-rewa-” Dylan squeaked.

Her mule was drawn away. Her leg then rose rapidly, allowing the open-toed workshoe to fly effortlessly off her extremity. Dylan’s eyes could now scrutinize ever fold, every tendon, each painted digit of Serena’s fully exposed foot.

Soon all he could see was the base of the imposing paw. The skin of Serena’s foot was unbelievably smooth. An artist could not have imagined such an idealized form of the human foot. Though he had not felt a single cell upon it, Dylan could imagine her tender flesh yielding against his very touch.

It was not long before all he could perceive was the flesh of her ped. His head turned away in anticipation. Upon his body, the skin of her foot made contact. True to his observations, he easily sunk into the oppressing digit. Its flesh conformed to every contour, sparing none of his own extremities.

The situation became far worse as her foot circled around, teasing his pathetic form.

Soon, her toe tapped against him, much in the manner she did with her mule moments earlier. Dylan wheezed in desperation, feeling the limits of his conviction weaken. As a familiar, intense feeling washed over him, guilt began to set it.

Dylan let out a squeak as he lost himself for the second time that day.

A warm smile spread across Serena’s face. She hummed to herself a most melodic tune, her voice almost ethereal. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, as the last document was readied for processing.

Her foot pressed down, her most tender attempt yet. There was a noticeable heat emanating from the diminutive shape of the young man. She was sporting a coy grin, which only grew wider as she noticed this.

So preoccupied was she with her work, both on the documents, and upon the technician, that the presence of another had gone completely unnoticed.

It was so, that Serena leapt into the air just a bit, as she heard the sharp voice of Alexia behind her.

“Alright Seri- hey, they got that dumb machine working haven't they?”

Slowly, the secretary turned round. Her raunchy confidence she had completely evaporated. Only the nervous shell that everyone else within the company had known her by remained.

“Oh! Uh, yeah,” she stammered, “I managed to uh - finish up over here.”

A toothy grin lightened Alexia’s face, “That's real good Ser. Say, why don't you keep that piece of junk open for me? I've got some documents of my own to submit.”

Serena began twiddling her thumbs, “Y-you said that you wouldn't need to until next week?”

“Yeah, but if I get em in early,” Alexia explained, “I can keep icy Messi off my ass. Now c'mon, I wanna get some good work in before the machine craps out again.”

Objections teetered on the edge of Serena’s lips, “Yeah, there's a- there's a-”

One of Alexia’s arms settled on Serena’s shoulders. Amber eyes glared down, commanding, but also caring in their nature, “Hey Ser- love ya, but gotta be honest, you're tying me down here. Why don't you loiter a bit outside and I'll join you once I'm done.”

Serena objected, “Bu-”

“Bye!”

Alexia waved Serena away. Her friend did not refuse her, and began sliding towards the exit. She had managed to retrieve her discarded mule, and expressed a hidden relief that the working woman never bothered to comment exactly on why she had taken off one shoe. The secretary found it hard to walk, for her heart, hidden behind her buxom torso, felt heavier than usual.

An amber glare was shot towards the cathode screen. Alexia bit her bottom lip as she set upon closing out of Serena’s opened windows. As there was nothing of consequence or interest, she sought to do this as quickly as possible.

Dylan had barely recovered, as he witnessed flared, gray briefs over a pair of slim legs march over to where Serena had just stood. Heeled sandals the color of burnt wood clacked upon the ground. Unlike Melissa’s crisp, snare-like rap, this new woman’s steps sounded scattered, unhinged. They were the very rhythm of chaos.

Sitting within her sandals were feet covered in tan colored stockings. The straps of the woman’s footware appeared to sink into the material.

There would be no reprieve or regard. As soon as she had made her way over, already her sandal veered over the pedal. Dylan was granted no time to shout, or even admire the narrow tread, as her foot slammed down upon him. It struck him in the manner of a hammer from the sky, vengeance sent by heaven itself. Already, he felt himself annihilated by the first press.

Alexia growled at the screen before her as she jammed her foot against the pedal again. The foot mouse indeed, was responding in a most peculiar way. She wondered if a stone from the outdoors had somehow wedged itself upon the padded surface. No further energy was spent deliberating upon this phenomenon, for the prospect of her work began consuming her.

“Fuck, forgot how slow this is!” she vented.

In an act of sheer frustration, she allowed her foot to kick the pedal. Dylan, still intact, but in immense pain, was bulldozed by the point of her toes. Spittle was ejected from his mouth. What followed was an agonized scream, an instinctual plea in response to the utter assault his body had endured.

Alexia narrowed her eyes, “Wha-”

She had perceived a high-pitched sound, something that could have not been produced by a machine. Most certainly, the piece of junk before her lacked the bitrate to simulate something that sounded so organic. Amber eyes peered under the desk, to the foot pedal she had enjoyed abusing so. A stray hand temporarily flicked away some of the heavy bangs obscuring one of her eyes, for she needed both to comprehend what she saw.

Crouching down, she inspected the small man who had found himself bound in such a position.

“Woah,” she voiced. A small smile began to creep across her face, “No, let me guess, you lost a bet?”

“No,” Dylan countered, “I'm-”

“Hush you little squirt,” interrupted the giantess, holding up a finger easily exceeding Dylan by three fold, “Let the big girl work this out... Oh wait, you pissed our lovely boss off haven't you?”

Emerald eyes widened, so much so that the far more immense woman that loomed above took notice.

Alexia was now smirking, “Well if there's anything I like, it’s rolling over you midgets. Can't say some of the ... *ahem* workplace accidents were enjoyable for the other party, but at least I had fun.”

Workplace accidents? The technician felt a lump in his throat. With the remaining strength in his battered limbs, he began to strain against his own bindings.

Alexia paid no heed to his struggles as she continued to muse, “And if I'm being endorsed from upstairs...”

She stood up straight. Her foot was brought forth once more, burying Dylan underneath her sandal. The foam material he laid upon at this point had been thoroughly abused, and thus, offered little relief from her assault.

“.. I guess I gotta give you exactly what you deserve!” the woman punctuated. Her eyes glowed, as if she drew a sort of esoteric power from the torment she inflicted.

Alexia’s labors continued. It was clear that she worked with a focused intensity. Every document she brought up elicited strong strokes across the keyboard that threatened to pop out its keys. Whenever the machine would pause on a task, one of her hands would slap the side of the monitor, despite the fact that no processing chips were installed anywhere near the display.

Dylan would bear the brunt of her excess. Unlike Melissa or Serena, who, even in their distracted states, would show a sort of deference to the well-being of the mouse pedal, Alexia appeared determined in every way to break it. Her heeled sandal would press into, and twist upon the surface. By extension, they would press into, and twist Dylan’s already fragile form.

The technician’s heavy jacket had begun to unravel and tear from her actions. At one point, Dylan experienced the bridge of his nose breaking. Sanguine liquid flowed down his nostrils and invaded his mouth, forcing him to cough. This appeared to elicit a form of reprieve from Alexia, as she glared down from on high.

Her face still wore a smirk, appearing to disregard her deliberate torments. Perhaps, more disturbingly, she even gave the impression she took pride in them.

Alexia scrutinized the bent, but not broken man. While he certainly occupied a man’s profession, his complexion and expression was much like that of a boy. He possessed bright wide eyes, thick curly hair, and even a smattering of freckles across his rounded cheeks. Indeed, even to someone such as her, she could feel her heartbeat accelerate just a tad.

“You're one tough cookie, you know that?” she observed.

Dylan could only cough in response.

“Dang, cutie too.” she continued, purring, “But since I aim to please, I'm just gonna have to mash you here.”

Her foot rose, as she angled her heel to implement maximum force. Alexia pondered the sensation her sandals would feel, mashing a man against a foam pedal. Most certainly, she mused the cleanup would not be easy. It would most certainly be an enticing experience, far more so than the other opportunities she could embrace such a lethal vocation.

“Wait! Please! Let me explain!” the insect begged.

The shadow of her heeled sandal overcame him, “Sorry, It's only business.”

Dylan’s voice grew shrill from sheer desperation, “I'm the technician! This was how I fixed the problem!”

The giantess rolled her eyes. “Sure, and I'm Leonardo Da Vinci! And if you're the whiz kid, you're lousy. The computer's still slow as hell!”

“It was the pedal, it malfunctioned!”

“Really, the stupid pedal again?” growled Alexia. Her foot still maintained its position over the hapless man, but her other had begun to wobble. “How original. Take it from a pro, if you're bullshitting, be less predictable.”

Rapid breaths accompanied wildy darting eyes, as Dylan searched for what next to say. Luckily, for his sake, such a process did not take long. As he chose his next words, emerald eyes met amber, “Melissa would be very unhappy!”

A puff of air escaped the woman’s lips, “What? You're her husband or something?”

“Yes!”

All that answered him was the hum of the machine. Processing, innovative several decades ago, churned away, filling in the silence between giantess and the man at her mercy. Slowly, her foot withdrew, allowing blinding florescent light to bathe his form.

Like the crack of a whip, a wicked cackle broke the silence. Alexia had to steady her chest from turbulence resulting from her raucous laughter. Several tears, drops that could have hydrated Dylan thoroughly, streamed down her cheek.

“Hoo boy!” she exclaimed, wicking away the moisture from her eyes, “That's rich! Yeah, some wife you've got there, leaving you tied up while letting other woman smash you to bits!”

As she pondered upon what she had said, the working woman added on, “That's actually kinda like Melissa, now that you think about it.”

A mote of fury entered Dylan’s chest. Neither the exhaustion of his limbs, nor the soreness of his flesh could prevent his knee-jerk outburst, “You don't know what she's like!”

“Really going with this are ya?” Alexia mused, peering further down at the battered man. Amber eyes caught a lustrous twinkle upon one of the man’s infinitesimal hands. “Even got a ring to back you up.”

And why would he go through the trouble of getting a ring to prove to me that he wasn’t tied up here by Melissa … to prove that he’s married to her …

“Gee, you really are married to that ice queen are you?” she realized, her own breath becoming audible, “I never would have guessed. Figured a little stain like you would be a bit less ... happy looking. But, you’re like a mini bottle of sunshine.”

Dylan’s eyes looked from the left, to the right, as conflict resided within him. “Uh, well, thanks miss.” he finally decided to say.

Alexia, meanwhile, decided to stand at her full height once more. It was clear, even to Dylan who was but a speck to the titans of the workplace, that even as she towered above, Melissa still had a good half to a head on her.

“Tell you what, let's reevaluate here,” Alexia began to concede, “I know Melissa, and believe me, you don't need to defend her here. Being with a woman like that? Forget what I was thinking, that must be the most miserable existence I could think of.”

Again, anger itself spoke before Dylan could even consider what flew out of his mouth, “Hey, don't talk about Melissa that way! She's great!”

A sigh escaped the giantess, “Relax sunshine, she isn't here!”

Dylan saw her lips curl into a smile. Her lips, full, and shaded a rather dark rich color, pouted as she beheld him. Sweat formed on his forehead, and the stirrings that had tormented his trousers earlier that day had begun to return.

“But ... I am.”

Her hand reached down, and began undoing the straps of one of her sandals. Each binding was done in a deliberate manner; it was clear she was in no hurry to extract her foot from her shoe. Every time a strap was undone, she flicked the floppy material away. Once unbound, her foot began sliding out of its containment. Methodically it moved, while digits, confined in tight tan material, wriggled and flexed.

Despite himself, the technician could not take his eyes off of the sight. He could not even blink.

What he saw was like witnessing a leviathan moving in the deep. Countless tonnes of foot hovered in the air. Now, he could fully take in the imposing details as they drew close. His discerning eyes caught the manner in which the cloth of Alexia’s stockings wrapped, stretched and folded over her skin. The temperature had noticeably risen, but this was not due to the ancient machine overheating. A distinct smell of flesh mixed with a pungent perfume filled his nostrils, almost causing him to enter some sort of delirium.

The sweltering warmth of her tights caressed him, as her foot pressed against the pedal. There was not enough force utilized to even move the device so it would toggle; not normally, nor with Dylan’s jury-rigged solution. Still, the desired effect Alexia sought took place. In the depths of her sensitive ped, she detected a rather hard, stiff nub.

“Man, she must be so cold your balls must have turned blue,” she said in a heavy, breathy voice. Dylan could not utter a word of objection, for his mouth had taken in the full taste of her stocking.

She continued, “Don't worry, I'll give you a little excitement.”

Her efforts intensified, as the sole of her foot circled around. Alexia’s ears picked up a few desperate squeaks. The technician’s body, hard from years of labor, shuddered in her tender flesh. Were she to continue, the woman could anticipate a rather delightful climax fast approaching.

Movement caught the edge of her vision. Her head turned back, and she let out a sharp exhale as she saw the figures of Melissa and Serena rush by. Panic, however, was the last item on her mind. She did let up, however, and discerned a pained whine from the mousy man below as a result.

The heavy, gray entrance lumbered open. Melissa was the first through. Her expression was blank as always, but her eyes told a different story. Icy orbs burned with a magnitude that would have put the sun to shame. If her glare was a cannon, she would have shot Alexia with it.

Serena, meanwhile, had delegated herself to the background. Her fingers twiddled, and she did her best to avoid eye-contact with her friend.

Melissa drew close, her stilettos slapping against the cold floor, sounding less like heels, and more akin to gunshots. Such was the sound that Dylan, even in his agonized state, grew excited, even through the sight of Alexia’s legs blocked off his viewpoint.

Making the most of her stature, the executive glared down at Alexia, before she began, “Serena here warned me you were to use the computer. Regarding your dubious history with the regular-sized, I simply wanted to make sure our technician is alright.”

Alexia smirked, sending a wave of unease through Melissa, “Oh, he's alright! I've met him. Worked like a charm! And have to say, easy on the eyes.”

The woman delighted upon witnessing her boss tighten her lips. She could easily make out the outlines of clenched teeth within her mouth. Melissa’s hands, folded just below her chest, had now tightened into fists.

“Heck, in fact, I'd much prefer it this way.” she continued, moving her shoeless foot over the pedal once more, “This mess of a machine's 30% faster here with the little guy working.”

Her foot smothered Dylan for the second time. She had arranged it so the gap of her toes gripped his head, while the pad of her anterior sole gripped the rest of his body. Softly, did she press down, toggling the pedal, and getting out another squeak from Dylan.

Repeatedly she did this, demonstrating what Melissa already knew, the fixed functionality of the mouse. The executive was granted a clear perspective of Alexia’s foot at work. Her mouth furrowed as she witnessed it in action.

“Your sandal's off,” she observed.

“That's because, despite the padding, shoes are really hard on him. He's got a broken nose for Christ's sake! Only some uncaring bitch would press on him with her shoes on.”

What Alexia witnessed, she would treasure for the years beyond. Melissa, already of a pale complexion, grew as white as snow. Cold sweat formed on her forehead, while her eyes wavered. The executive’s lips trembled, while a hesitant foot, caused her to back away.

Meanwhile, as Melissa began to relent, Alexia increased the vigor in which she pumped the pedal, no longer caring about the impression of demonstrating functionality. Her boss’s eyes remained glued to the spot, witnessing the hidden form of her husband languishing underneath the muggy, musky stocking. Several moans made their way to Melissa’s ear, but she could not summon any indignation to even let out a word of protest.

Once Alexia sensed the man below her shudder once more, she relented, resulting in Dylan letting out another frustrated squeak. Never, did the woman’s eyes let up, glaring into the once cold irises of her boss. A knowing smile tainted her arrogant expression, daring the executive to take action.

But, Melissa’s guilt-filled soul could not muster up the challenge.

“I trust he'll be alright?” she begged, “You know we'll get into legal trouble if any major injuries occur?”

“Relax Icy,” came the false reassurance, “I'm gentler than a silk handkerchief.”

With the timidity of a lost puppy, Melissa retreated. Her eyes veered back to Serena, then to Alexia once more, as she wavered between exiting the room, and remaining.

Soon enough, the CEO was able to pass through the door. Serena shot her a desperate look, before she too, followed her superior out.

Alexia was left alone with Dylan once more.

A predatory look overtook her face, as she glared down at the messy sight before her foot. Licking her lips, her foot advanced.

Her actions were interrupted as the door swung open again. Melissa, it appeared, had doubled back. It appeared she had settled down. The executive’s face was as stoic and deadpan as ever, as a dead-serious look was shot into the depths of Alexia’s soul.

“Alexia!” she shouted most sternly.

“What?” responded the woman, her breath beginning to accelerate.

“Watch your language,” scolded Melissa, “You are in a professional environment.”

As soon as she had entered, she departed. The heavy door was slammed behind her, a shocking accomplishment, considering its weight.

Rolling her eyes, Alexia continued. She pumped the pedal once more, exiting out of her last document. With a satisfied sigh, she could focus on her true task at hand.

Dylan was surrounded on all sides. With both arms bound, he could not find purchase to free himself from the sweltering prison he found himself in. His legs kicked out, sinking into warm cloth that stained his pants with the barest layer of sweat. The technician’s face was all but consumed by Alexia’s foot, while her big toe and second toe flanked the sides of his head, pinching it in a most tender manner. Overwhelmed by sensuous sensations, it was not long before he could feel his hips rock in desperation.

“Have to say, you've got poor taste in woman, but you are the perfect pedal,” Alexia sneered.

Her foot continued to pump upon the man. Alexia’s pulses increased in intensity, until she felt him closing in on the desired place. Not yet little man, I’ve got way more mileage I can get out of you.

As her foot lifted off of him, Dylan could only plead, “What are you doing?”

“You really should be honored,” Alexia cooed back at him, sticking out her tongue, “Little ants like you usually aren't worth my time. I'd say you've earned yourself a little prize.”

She pressed her big toe into Dylan’s face.

“Stop,” was all he could muster. His voice was muffled by the mass of her flesh.

“Make me,” dared his tormentor, and his siren, “Don't worry, your bitch isn't here. It's just me. Do this for me.”

“No,” groaned Dylan, into the heat of her stocking.

Her big toe moved up and down his body, a puny effort, but one quite apparent on the poor man. His tongue was sticking out by instinct, and he could taste her odorous taint, built up from a day spent in heeled-sandals. Emerald eyes rolled back, while his hips continued to gyrate. The only part of his that stood steady was his conviction. But even that was beginning to waver.

“Worried that you're disrespecting wifey?” she teased, intensifying her efforts, “Embarrassed that it takes only a foot to make you squirt?”

Another moan escaped him, delivered entirely into the mass of her foot. Dylan’s fists clenched, as if that would hold off the tide of pleasure. Yet, every time he was brought to the edge of despair, Alexia would relent, and deny him release, provoking a pang of agony that tortured his confused conscience.

He’s so cute when he’s frustrated like this. Oh Melissa, I might just have to keep this little guy.

Alexia brought her foot to where her toe only covered Dylan’s torso, leaving his head exposed. She giggled as she still felt his squirms down below.

“If you pop, it'll be our little secret,” she taunted, bringing a finger to her lips, “You don't have to tell anyone.”

She increased the pressure of her toe, and delighted when Dylan’s face scrunched up once more. The man was desperately trying to divert his attention, or for the third time, he would spill something he would regret.

He thought of his wife, whom he had devoted himself to. He thought of her smile, her beautiful ice-blue eyes, her statuesque body, curvy hips, voluptuous chest …

Clearly, a different avenue was required. The technician pondered upon some of the most horrific horror movies he had witnessed, the likes of which sent his wife into a frightful frenzy, hugging him tightly so that the disgusting movie monsters would not harm her…

Apparently what would only work was imagining his Grandfather, the respectable patriarch of his childhood, stark naked.

Alexia’s voice pierced through the aether, demanding his attention, “You'll get to stick it to that cold-hearted bitch. It's the only thing you'll ever get to stick in her.”

Dylan’s train of thought crashed. He was brought closer and closer to the brink. The soft, tender, pungent stocking sunk into every contour of his body. It even invaded the depths of his mind, to where closed eyes and plugged ears could not escape. All of him, pain and pleasure, was now the dominion of the woman who stood above him, who stood on him. And to her, he was nothing but a plaything.

“Worried that you'll be a dirty little cheater?” she sneered, her voice, a risque whisper, “She deserves it.”

The man desperately shook his head, yet the pressure within kept building up.

“Let's finish this, but only if you ask nicely.”

He looked up, and cowered before her Amber glare. Each eye burned like a yellow star. Were he to fly too close with wax wings, his devices would burn, and be cast into the turbulent sea.

“Please stop ...” he begged.

A barrage of pressure assailed him, drawing him closer to the abyss, before forcefully pulling him away.

“Try again.” she scolded, “Say, 'Mistress Alexia, allow my nasty, tiny, cheating prick to cum.'”

“No, please...” he moaned as her toe pumped along his hapless body. He would experience a pang of pain, now, every time he was denied climax.

“C'mon, you filthy little stain. I'm waiting.”

Another rush of pressure finally broke his spirit. Dylan felt his arms go slack. Emerald eyes, once full of life, were now rendered dull and empty. In a pathetic squeak, his parched mouth opened. “Mi-Mistress.”

Alexia let out a sigh, “Close enough. Speaking of which ...”

Her foot pressed down one last time. Dylan offered no resistance, and immediately felt release upon him. A loud squeak exited his mouth. Tears streamed down his eyes, as his hips thrust against the extremity above. Alexia felt a small wet stain upon her stocking, and grinned victoriously.

“Nasty little cheater,” she taunted, “All from a woman's foot.”

She brought the sole of her foot up, before smothering the entirety of Dylan’s body. He notably glowed with heat, a combination of clarity, embarrassment, and the day’s labors. A triumphant laugh rocked her chest as she regarded the man trapped underneath her foot, as he stained her stocking with tears and lecherous liquid.

Score 1 for Alexia! Better luck next time Messi!

...

Melissa’s office faced westward. As such, outside her window, the evening sun ignited the sky with various hues. It was necessary to keep the blinders down, lest every man and woman, big and small, blind themselves once called to her office.

The executive herself, of course, kept her back to the view outside. Yet, on this particular day, she appeared unlike her usual self. Her posture, once proud and straight, was slumped over. Melissa’s expression, something she always managed to keep unreadable, was now bursting with somber sympathy.

At her desk was a man, curled up in utmost shame. Dylan’s eyes were red, having been recently stained with tears. He dared not even look at his own wife, as if he was unworthy of her image. Even as she allowed a pale, thin finger of a girth greater than any man to stroke down his back, the gesture brought the disgraced technician little comfort.

Alexia you fiend, you will pay for making my husband this way!

Melissa felt an immense pain in her chest as she witnessed Dylan languish in such a state. Even more agonizing, was that none of her reassurances, whether by speech, or by action, could lift his mood.

All except for one thing.

“I suppose I’ll have to punish you for your infidelity.”

For the first time that evening, Dylan looked up. A sort of relief washed across his face, as if accepting punishment for a crime he had never committed would uplift him. An understanding nod followed, as he awaited the consequences his wife had planned for him.

“I can’t have prying eyes and sniveling sirens leading you astray. For this evening, you will be tending to my nylons.”

Melissa’s fingers, once careful and tender, now pinched the revived man by his shirt, dangling him over the edge of the desk. He was brought down, down to her chair. Dropped upon the lush leather surface, he could only gawk at her nylon-clad legs, stretching up as high as multi-story buildings, flanking him on either side. Further inward, his keen eyes could perceive where her thighs met, as well as the outline of his wife’s undergarments, an enticing sight that still stirred hidden desires.

Venturing forth, into the black depths of his wife’s skirt, Dylan was ready to perform his penance.

Melissa would later come to regret this decision, for her evening proved quite unproductive. In addition, she was quite sure Serena had caught her making the most unprofessional of facial expressions as her husband serviced her most intimate needs with great passion. Such was her burden, being the boss.