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Great thuds in the distance shook the ground.
“Artillery! Take cover!” Scharfürher Weißmann frantically commanded. The twenty-seven men all complied in near-panic,stumbling off the dirt road and into the ditches on either side. Not that they had much choice. It was well-known that staying in the open would be suicide. Weißmann also wasted no time, and slid into the mud beside Erik Krieger, a young rifleman from his squad. They both braced for the impact.
It never came. Instead, more thumps came from the distance.
“Stay down everyone!” shouted Hugo Hertz, another scharfürher.
But again, the shells never landed. There were no explosions anywhere around the group, and no reports in the air.
“Does anyone hear them landing?” Björn Stiglitz, a rottenfürher, asked of the group.
No one answered in the affirmative. The group relaxed a bit after a few minutes, but remained wary; the thuds continued, but there were never any explosions to answer.
About ten minutes after first notice of the sounds, Krieger turned to Weißmann.
“Um, Scharfürher, are they getting closer?”
Weißmann listened intently. A flash of visible astonishment dashed across his face. They were getting closer. Quickly.
The ground shook. Trees toppled not far off. The sounds got ever closer. All of the sudden, they saw it. A massive figure appeared over the top of the trees. Her hair was black and shoulder-length with slight waves. She wore simple clothing; a yellow-brown set of blouse and trousers, with an incredibly large red star emblazoned across the field cap on her head. On her feet were boots similar to the style worn by the Red Army, but more feminine. A satchel hung from her hip, held by a strap across her chest.
She stepped onto the road, looking down to it with a moderately triumphant look on her face. Returning her attention to where she was going, the giant woman began walking down the road toward the group of soldiers. The very earth seemed to tremble as she got closer, and reached the height of its crescendo as she unknowingly stepped over the men. Down below, the warriors watched in fearful awe as her mighty boot ascended and flew through the air, only to crash back down some way behind them.
It was too much for one soldier. He scrambled out of the ditch and ran down the road in the opposite direction, frantically screaming as he did so. The giantess snapped around. Seeing the man, an evil smile crossed her face. Before the rest of the group knew what was happening, the woman had bolted over and used two fingers to grab the man by his helmet. Slowly, she lifted him up as she rose to her full height. The man hung there from his helmet, held only by the strap which was now digging into his throat. He struggled to lift himself up in order to fill his lungs with life-saving air. The woman held him in-front of her face. She smiled villainously as she said something in Russian, her hot, moist breath billowing over the man. Seconds later, there was a metallic pop and the man fell through the air, flailing all the way. He hit the ground with a sickening thud. The giantess dropped the helmet, now without a strap, beside him and moved her foot over his body. She lowered her boot, crushing the man with a squelch and a crunch, and slowly ground the remains.
Weißmann aimed his MP40 at her face. He, like the others, was astounded at what was happening. However, serving on the Ostfront for a few years tends to make one react without thinking when danger is involved.
“Angrief!” he shouted as he opened fire. Following suite, the men of the group took aim and began firing. The giantess shielded her face from the barrage of hot lead, and stumbled a bit in confusion from the surprise attack. She quickly retaliated, though, kicking a machine-gunner who had the misfortune of being too close. His body flew through the air and crashed into a tree. The giant woman yelled another phrase in Russian. She stomped around, flattening unfortunate soldiers beneath her powerful boots, killing them indiscriminately. She noticed a rifleman fumbling with his Kar98k, trying desperately to un-jam it. She snatched him from the ground and dropped him into her satchel. As if realizing that this was a better idea than simply killing them, she began doing this with every soldier. As she moved to a more central location and dropped into a predatory stance, her massive foot crashed onto one of the ditches, almost completely flattening it.
They had almost been snuffed out without even a thought. Weißmann and Krieger had lain down just in time to avoid getting their heads pulverized by the descending boot. Lying on their backs, they stared up at the sole, whose treads were dangerously close to their faces. Clumps of blood-soaked dirt rained down as the woman shifted to gather their comrades.
“Scharfürher,” Krieger whimpered, “I don't want to die here.”
Weißmann tore his eyes from the treacherous footwear above them and looked at his charge.
“Be brave! Your name is Krieger for God's sake.” he said between adrenaline-fueled breaths.
“Besides, no matter how you die, so long as you're a member of the Schutzstaffel, you'll have died serving Germany.”
Krieger nodded, but was unconvinced.
Above, the woman finished rounding up the rest of the men. She selected one at random from her bag and held him to her face by his chest. Her cold eyes stared at him, her glee barely concealed behind a guise of anger.
“Do you speak Russian?” she asked in German.
“N... Nein.”
“That's a shame. I don't often get to speak with anyone, and I would have preferred to speak in something at least close to my native tongue.”
She stopped looking at the man and seemed to address the entire forest.
“Are there any more Germans out there? Show yourselves and I'll be more inclined towards mercy.”
The men beneath her looked at each other when they heard her command. Weißmann tried to think about the situation, but the sound of her toes slowly rubbing the insole far above them wasn't helping. He came to the only conclusion he could think of. He started shoveling mud onto the Shütze beside him.
“Krieger, cover yourself in mud. I'm going to turn myself in. When she's distracted, get out of here. Find a way back and report what has happened.”
“Scharfürher, I can't just-”
“That's an order, Krieger.”
The young man swallowed hard, and began rubbing mud on himself. Weißmann nodded in a solemn manner.
“It's been an honor,” he said, and crawled out from under the foot of the Red Goddess.
She was getting impatient.
“One more chance, Germans. If you're out th-”
“Down here, Frau Russ!” Weißmann called as he got to his feet. He put his hands up to show that he was unarmed.
The giantess looked down at him, once again displaying an evil grin.
“Ah, there's one, and an officer at that. Looks like I won't be needing you,” she said to the soldier still in her hand. She grasped one of his legs with the thumb and index finger of her other hand and snapped it back sharply, as one would a twig. The man screamed in agony. The woman bent around and placed him on the ground behind her.
“No, no, please!” the man pleaded. He briefly gazed above him in terror before trying in vain to crawl away.
Now is Krieger's chance, Weißmann thought. When she lifts her foot, he can just run. She'll be too occupied with her sadistic display to notice him.
However, the lady had other plans. Rather than lift her foot, she turned back around. She looked over her shoulder and gave the broken man a girlish smile. Her rear descended. The man had just enough time to look back. The massive mustard-colored field stretched as her flesh pulled it tight. He screamed. Her left cheek fell on him, leaving the soldier as nothing but a red stain on her pants.
Now sitting, the Red Lady plucked Weißmann from his position near her left foot. Like the others, she held him to her face.
“So,” she started,”What are all you boys doing out here.”
“We were part of a Kampfgruppe put together for deep reconnaissance. We were ambushed, and our commanding officer was killed and radios were destroyed along with most of our maps and other equipment. We've been trying to find our way back.” Though his heart was beating through his chest, Weißmann spoke surprisingly well for the the position he was in.
“Aww, a little homesick are we?” the giantess mocked concern. “Maybe you should have thought of that before you invaded my homeland.”
“We are not the bosses, Frau Russ, but the workers. If you let these men and myself go, I will personally do anything I must to see to it that the Fürher stops the invasion.”
“Save your empty promises for the whores of Berlin, Scharfürher. I know you have no such power,” she stated, suddenly growing more serious.
“I, of course, keep my promises. I told you I'd be merciful. Though I'd like nothing more than to bite your head off and leave your body for the wolves, I'm not going to kill you. Yet.”
She placed him back on the ground.
“Take your clothes off.”
With only a second's hesitation, Weißmann stripped. First his jacket was removed. Then he took off his field gear. He had lost his hat while under the woman's foot, so his field-gray tunic and trousers came off next. With every article removed his sense dignity, and his body temperature, dropped. He untied and stepped out of jackboots, and finally removed his undergarments. Scharfürher Friedhelm Weißmann stood in the chilly Russian air, stripped of clothes, dignity, and pride. His feet sank into the mud, further adding to his misery. The giantess looked down at him in amusement.
“Is your sausage only that long, Kraut?” she said and playfully nudged him with her boot. “Oh, I see. It's longer when it's warm. Let me give you some help.”
She pulled her foot closer and untied her boot. She pulled socked her foot out and slid it over to Weißmann. Heat radiated from the wool, even with it being nearly saturated with her sweat. Her smell contaminated the air. She had obviously worn these socks and boots for an extended amount of time.
“Kiss it and I'll warm you up.”
Weißmann weighed his options. Warm or cold, he was still under her complete control. He leaned forward and buried his face into the soaked wool clinging to her big toe. All he could taste and smell was her sweat, but her heat made his face the warmest it had been in days. After a few seconds, she pulled her foot away.
“It's very warm. Don't you like being warm?”
She removed her sock, and picked up Weißman with her other hand. She held him over the mouth of the sock before dropping him in. The soldier fell into the wool tube, tasting, smelling, and rolling in her sweat, but also warming up. The toe section caught him. Luckily, he remained mostly unharmed.
The lady peeked in one last time before tying a knot to close off the top of the sock. She stuffed the sock back into her boot, following it with her foot. She pushed the wool-and-German bundle down to the front of the shoe, underneath the arch of her toes. Before tying her knots and sealing the poor soldier inside, the giantess made sure she could feel him squirm beneath her. The woman squeezed him and grinned.
“Now, who's next?” she asked, looking into her satchel.

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Krieger was terrified as the enormous treads disappeared nearly as quickly as they had descended. From his position in the muck, he could see his scharfürher being held to the face of the terrifying woman.
“Not yet,” the young shütze whispered to himself.
Though her eyes were on the officer in her grasp, Krieger was sure the giantess would see him if he moved. Shivering from both fear and cold, he forced himself to breath slowly in an attempt to still his quaking body.
Weißmann was soon placed on the ground. Krieger gasped as the older soldier was commanded to strip in the freezing cold. The shütze shut his eyes, not wanting to bear witness to the humiliation of such a noble and honorable man. He listened as the woman taunting the scharfürher, and could not help but feel grateful that he was not in the same situation.
The sound of many mounds of dirt being moved very fast prompted Krieger's eyes to snap open. Before him, the giant lady had slid her leg inward and, after removing her foot from the confines of her boot, extended the appendage back to the nude officer. The young private willed his eyes to close again, but he was unable to overpower the urge to see the spectacle unfolding before him.
Weißmann was commanded to kiss her foot, and he did so. The giantess taunted him once more before snatching up the humiliated man with one hand and removing her sock with the other. She dropped him inside the wool garment, tied up the end, stuffed the entire mass into her boot, and replaced the shoe onto her foot. Still sitting, the woman turned to peer into the satchel at her side.
“Now, who's next?” she asked.
This was all more than Krieger could take. He had to run, and now seemed as good a time as any. The young soldier pushed the freezing mud off of his body and rose to his feet as fast as he could. He tried to sprint away, but was brought back to the cold earth as the muck shifted beneath his feet. Frantically, the shütze flipped over and wiped the mud from his eyes. He snapped them open just in time to see a gigantic hand drop onto him. The flesh pushed down and pulled him roughly through the mud. It lifted, and the furious scowl of the Russian giantess greeted him. She had pulled him between her legs, almost level with her knees. He would've had to crane his neck to see her face had he not been lying on back.
“I see someone decided to disobey me,” the woman said.
Krieger couldn't speak.
“Get up!” she commanded of him.
The soldier stood shakily to his feet.
“Take off your clothes!”
He complied slowly, shaking as he did so.
“Schnell!” the woman shouted, making Krieger jump. He tore off his clothing and gear faster than he even thought possible, and stood in the Russian chill as bare as the day he was born.
“What is your name, worm?” the giantess demanded.
“Shütze Erik Krieger, mein Frau!”
The woman gave an amused smile.
“Krieger, eh? Quite a name for a coward hiding at my feet.”
She thought for a moment.
“Let me guess; the brave and noble scharfürher here,” she nodded at her foot, “was a distraction so you could escape and tell your high command of me. Is that it?”
“Ja, mein Frau!”
“Well, I'm sorry to say that his sacrifice was in vain,” she said with mock apology in her voice.
Again, her hand descended upon him. However, instead of covering him or lifting him up, she used a single finger to shove him once more to the freezing earth. The digit stayed on his chest, holding him in place.
“How long has it been since a woman's touched you?” she asked, “Weeks? Months? I'm sure you're backed up, as they say.”
The index finger on her other hand came town and landed atop the soldier's pelvis. She moved the digit slowly and lightly up and down the lower portion of the man's body. At her touch, his penis sprung to attention unbid. Though her size severely hurt her accuracy, the sheer act of moving her finger touched the shütze in all the right ways. She sped up her motions as she went, and it was not long before the soldier ejaculated onto her finger. She stroked a few more times before noticing, spreading his semen over much of his lower body.
“That was quick. I see it has been awhile. How about another round?”
She went back to stroking, this time faster, harder, and less caring. Her finger pushed into him harder than ever. His body burned as her digit gained speed. The soldier screamed with pain, and felt himself beginning to bleed. This was the worst pain he'd ever endured. He was sure his genitals were being mutilated.
“Please! Stop!” he managed to cry out.
“Aww, you don't like it?” the lady said mockingly. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”
Suddenly, she stopped stroking. The finger she'd placed on his chest lifted, though not fully; her sharp nail pinned him in place. Slowly, she applied pressure. The nail pushed into the man, drawing blood and cracking his rib-cage. His eyes widened horribly, and red leaked from his mouth.
“Now, when you reach Hell, maybe you will obey your betters without hesitation.” the giantess scolded.
With a final shove, her nail went through his body entirely. With a few final splutters and gasps, the man finally expired. The woman pulled his corpse from her finger and tossed it into the undergrowth. She rose to her full height.
“It is getting a bit chilly out. Would you gentlemen like to move this party to my house?”
With that, she began the trek back to her abode.

Warmth. Sweat. Pressure. Gravity. This was what Friedhelm Weißmann's world consisted of as the giantess made her way back to her house. He couldn't hear anything from the confines of her sock and boot, but he could feel the g-forces as her foot lifted, the jolt as it touched ground, and the unimaginable pressure as she sprung off once again. The woolen prison he was in had moved as she walked, spreading out to form a sort of insole beneath her foot. Weißmann was held in place beneath the arch of her toes by the tight fabric. Every so often, the massive digits would squeeze him, forcing his face into the wet wool. After ages, he finally felt the enormous weight above him slide away. The g-forces returned as his prison was pulled out of her boot and into light. The knot above him was undone and the smiling face of the Russian goddess appeared.
“Well, well. It seems you're a tough little soldier after all.”
Weißmann simply glared up, his eyes adjusting to the light.
“I really liked having you at my feet, and you seem to be the most well-spoken of this bunch, so I think I'm going to hold onto you for awhile.”
Her face was replaced by her palm, and the soldier's world was violently flipped. He tumbled onto her hand and she placed him onto a table. Weißmann took in his surroundings.
Had she been normal-sized, the woman's house would've been considered small. The single-room dwelling had a wall dedicated to a kitchen area and fireplace. He sat on her dining table, facing this wall. Her door was on the closest wall to him, between the table and kitchen. On the opposite wall to his right was a bed, a dresser, and night stand with the biggest gas lamp he had ever seen. The structure of the house appeared to be made from whole trees stripped and stacked, giving it the appearance of having been made of sticks. Her kitchen and fireplace seemed to be made of more bricks than were used in an entire factory.
The giantess pulled a chair from her table and dumped the contents of her satchel onto it. As she picked up several items- a flint and steel kit, more survival items, some cosmetics, and other things of that nature- she bid Weißmann to the edge. He complied, and looked down at the men. Including himself, the officer counted twelve survivors.
“Frau Russ, there are few of us left.”
She flashed him a devilish smile and snatched up six of the still-dazed soldiers, three in each hand. She somewhat roughly placed them on the table. Looking to the chair behind her, she saw one of the men there shaking his head and beginning to stand. Without turning around, the woman pushed him off the chair and under the table. He landed on one of her discarded socks, luckily avoiding injury.
“Yes, I had a few as a snack while I walked,”she said, addressing the scharfürher. Without hesitation, she sat in the chair, obliterating those still on it.
“And now there are even less,” she said nonchalantly. “Stay away from the rest. I don't want to mistake you for one of them.”
Weißmann was stunned. What kind of woman was this that could end lives so easily? Nevertheless, he obeyed. The giantess scooted her chair closer to the table. Using her toes, she grabbed the man on her sock and gave him a squeeze. She kicked the sock away with her other foot and dropped him onto the bare concrete floor. Her foot came down on top of him and moved back and forth, rolling him beneath it.
The woman reached behind the men and grabbed a hairbrush. With her other hand she picked up one of the cowering soldiers. Weißmann recognized him as Hugo Hertz, another scharfürher. The woman peered at him.
“What are the colors of your reich?” she asked.
“Red, black, white, and gold,” Hertz sputtered out.
“And what are the colors of the Soviets?”
“Red, gold, and black?” Hertz said questioningly.
“I think only one of us is allowed to have red as our primary color,” the giant woman answered. She brought him to the brush and impaled him onto the many spikes, piercing his body in multiple places. The man howled in pain, and blood rushed from his mouth and wounds. She brought the brush to her hair and stroked without ceremony. Her black strands were soon covered with a thin layer of deep red. When he was brought to her hair, Hugo's screaming was muffled, and the woman was able to speak without his cries interfering.
“I think... you see... that... it... is... I... who is now... red.”
When she was finished, the giantess tossed the brush across the room, letting the man either die from the force or, failing that, from blood-loss. She selected another man from the table and placed him on the floor. She positioned him and the soldier already there underneath the pads of each of her big toes. Every so often, she would increase pressure on them. The woman said her goal was to find out which one was stronger. While she did this, she took a slice of bread from a nearby plate and offered a crumb to Weißmann. The officer broke off a piece and threw it to the remaining soldiers while the giantess seemed occupied. She noticed, however, and decided to punish the soldiers instead of Weißmann. She plucked two of them from the table and stuffed them into her slice of bread.
“If you want food so much, you shall have it,”she said, and greedily shoved her food into her mouth. As she did so, Weißmann heard a sickening crunch from below. The Red goddess had found her winner, but crushed him anyway after a brief congratulations.
“And now there are three, but only two of you are expendable,” she said, “I think I have an idea. You boys wouldn't mind helping a needy lady conduct business, would you?”
She snatched them both from the table, and stuck one between her toes. The giant woman walked over to her bed and pulled a chamber pot from beneath it. She dropped the remaining soldier in, pulled down her pants, and squatted over the ceramic pot. In no time, the pool of her urine was too deep for the soldier to stand in. He trod the foul liquid as the giantess watched with girlish glee. After several minutes, the man, weak with the days events, disappeared beneath her waste and never resurfaced. The woman pulled her pants up again and took a step, but remember the man at her feet. She used her fingers to turn him upside-down, and still holding him with her toes, dipped his head beneath the waves of urine. After much struggling from him and giggling from the cruel lady, he too drowned in her waste. Weißmann was the only one left.

An electronic ring woke them both. Yawning, the giant woman looked down to her right breast.
“Good morning, my little German lover,” she said. “I see you survived the night. Did you sleep well?”
After a night of helping her pleasure herself, Friedhelm Weißmann was stuck to her nipple. With what, he did not know. Without waiting for an answer, the woman rose from the bed and walked to her dresser. She pulled out a long, loose-fitting shirt and threw it over herself, letting it drape below her waist. The cool fabric fell on Weißmann's face and body, preventing him from seeing but allowing light to enter. He shook with her breast as she walked, and heard her door open. Far below, he could hear a male voice speaking Russian. He felt vibrations when the goddess replied.

The Russian man shuffled nervously as he felt the giantess approach the door. With a great flurry, the entryway was opened and there, rising impossibly high, was the giant woman.
“Greetings!” he shouted up to her. “Comrade Stalin sent me to remind you of your task here. He says to remind you of how expensive it was to build this house, and that it is much nicer than the one you had in Siberia!”
The woman looked down at him, unimpressed and almost angry.
“You can tell Comrade Stalin that I have not forgotten what he brought me here to do, that I found and dealt with at least thirty Germans just yesterday, and that if he bothers me again, I will be coming to Moscow; and it is not a house I will be wanting in Moscow. Now leave before I crush you like the replaceable bug you are,” she said raising her foot for emphasis.
Without another word, the man scurried back to his car and left before harm could come to him.