Oh, my first time? I suppose I can tell you. It was only a few years ago, anyway.
It was during summer school. I had actually already graduated, with honors, I might add, but my school required a physical education class, and I had chosen other classes each year.
Unfortunately, the district had only one tiny school open for summer school PE, which only had an infrequently mowed field for a running track, and that summer was one of the hottest on record, so they mostly had us in a classroom, watching old videos about biology and health. I guess that's what qualifies for PE when it's a hundred and seven outside.
When I say "us", though, I should be clear; there were at most, three people in that poorly ventilated sweat box. Myself; the idiot who took a 900 level algorithm-driven stats class during my final semester instead of climbing a rope with the freshmen, the teacher; who, after about a week, had a solid twenty percent attendance rate, and Gregory, the man who would be my first.
Gregory hadn't graduated as I had, although he was old enough to; both of us had turned eighteen during the school year. No, Gregory was in the summer school PE class because his medical condition had prevented him from completing school, and he was finishing up a few things, including PE.
You can probably guess the condition that prevented him from attending most of his classes his senior year.
Everyday was largely the same. Gregory and I would show up, sign in on a sheet of paper, watch a few videos for about an hour, and then the teacher, too distracted with some extensive home renovation, would leave us to our own devices for the remainder of the eight hour day.
Gregory and I'd usually pass the time talking, I was very curious about how his life had been since shrinking. Young people rarely experienced symptoms, so it was a bit awkward for him to have contacted it late in his senior year, but not entirely unheard of. When we weren't talking, we'd occupy ourselves on our phones.
The day it happened was near the end of the class. It was one of the hottest days that summer, so I knew going in there was zero chance of us actually doing anything physical, which informed my attire for the day. If I'd have expected to do anything, tennis shoes, sports bra, tank top, and athletic shorts would've been in order, but given the extreme heat, I opted for just the tank top, some cut off denim shorts, and flip flops.
I arrived a bit late, okay quite a bit late. Admittedly, punctuality wasn’t my strong suit and knowing the class would almost assuredly consist of either talking with Gregory, or browsing my phone, I rare woke up on time. That day was no different, and since I didn’t plan on working too hard, I forsook my shower in favor of breakfast.
When I arrived, Gregory had already been dropped off and was sitting on the desk he normally occupied, in the front next to mine. He once told me how small he actually was, something like sixty millimeters, but it was always a bit shocking to see him on the desktop. But other than us, there was no one else to be found, although from the desolate parking lot, I had already guessed that.
Gregory quickly explained that the teacher had fucked off, apparently some personal emergency with his house, and would likely not be back for the day, leaving us with the instructions; “stay productive” on a sticky note attached to a DVD case of an animated movie about the workings of white blood cells from decades ago.
I left the DVD in the case and instead took my seat, scrolling through my phone, although I was more focused on Gregory. We’d been left on our own before, but never for this long, and as close as it was to the end of the summer semester, there was basically no staff on site.
The classroom was hot, I remember it being uncomfortably hot, even more so than normal. I can remember that pretty clearly because every part of me was sweating. My tank top was already darkened from the car ride over, I had a pretty uncomfortable case of swamp ass, and my feet were slipping around in the cheap flip flops I was wearing. I had kicked my feet up on the desk and was airing them out by letting the flip flops, well, flop around dangling from my toes.
That’s when I caught Gregory staring; staring right at my feet.
I must have watched him for a few minutes, he never took his eyes off my feet. I even swayed them from side to side, and watched his head move with them. I would slide one foot under the other just to watch him try to catch a better glimpse. I even let one of the flip flops fall to the desk, just to see if it would break him out of his trance, but he remained fixated, dutifully staring even as my toes slipped back into the cheap rubber straps.
All of those videos I had been watching, all of those nights I had been spending with my vibrator and the thoughts of shrunken people, in general, sometimes Gregory specifically, being squished beneath my ass, between my tits, under my foot, swallowed whole, crushed in my fist, or shoved up my ass all came flooding back into me and before I realized it, sweat wasn’t the only thing dampening my shorts.
I know what pushed me over the edge, it wasn’t just the heat radiating out from my pussy getting too strong, or the way his breathing was getting more ragged the longer he watched my feet. No, it was when his trance finally broke, and he turned and looked me in the eyes. That pitiful, desperate, terrified expression did it.
I lunged over to where he was on his desk. He had a little ramp structure to allow him to descend and climb back up to the desktop as needed, but I brushed that away and threw my arms on the desktop trapping him between them. From there, it was so easy to just reach out and grab him.
Even though it can be hard to hear those tiny expressions, I could feel him quaking with fear as my hand wrapped around him. As my fingers closed around him, I remember being amazed at just how small he felt, and yet how clearly I could feel his trembling. He'd told me many times that being held in someone's fist, unable to budge their grip, feeling their fingers tighten around him, was one of his most vivid, and frequent, nightmares, so of course I made sure to hold him, and squeeze him to really bring that horror to life for him. No part of him was free of my grasp, and I was delighted when I heard his screams give out from having the air squeezed out of him, only to relax my grip and have those sobbing wails return.
Looking back, he probably regretted telling me as much as he did. We'd had plenty of conversations about him shrinking, I think he thought that I was just curious, he couldn't have known how turned on I was listening to him describe the helplessness of being two inches tall, or if he did, he certainly wouldn't have kept showing up to be alone in a room with me.
He was actually the one who got me into it in the first place. Not only did he talk, at length, about his fears, he also mentioned the online community. I'd never watched any shrunken material before, but the day after he mentioned it, I raced home and started digging around. It became routine for me to go home, pull up a video with as close to whatever scenario he'd outlined that day, and get off to the thought of me doing that to him. Hell, the stupid little guy even mentioned Carnation Carnage by name.
Every day after he brought it up, I'd be getting more and more worked up when he'd talk about it. Sometimes I'd excuse myself to the bathroom just to rub one out after he'd detailed a dream where he'd been eaten, or smothered, or crushed in someone's hand, or, and this was his biggest fear, being stepped on.
Of all his nightmares and fears, that was the one that came up more than any other. He'd known people with his condition had met grisly ends in other ways, but to hear him tell it, the most danger he was ever in, at any given time, was to be in the presence of an unaffected person, and at ground level. It was a fear that was reinforced by an incident with a nurse when he had first been shrunk, and he'd never quite recovered from having a woman's flat slam into the ground next to him like a meteorite.
So of course, I knew what I was going to do.
His ordeal in my hand was just a warm up. Just to let him know that he was completely fucked as I lowered him to the old linoleum flooring. When I let him fall from my hand, I made sure that he wasn't hurt from the fall, but it was immediately clear that he was too petrified to run. Oh, I wish you could have seen it, he was crying and blubbering and begging all so hard and at the same time, you couldn't make sense of it.
I think I said something to him, something cold and cruel, but it doesn't really matter what I said. What I did was far more impactful. I let him look up at the soles of my flip flops. I hovered each one over him, like I was indecisive. I let them slip off my feet, one at a time, and he screamed each time as he dove out of the way. They were cheap foam flip flops, I don’t think even at his shrunken size they would’ve really hurt him, but I guess from his perspective it would be difficult to tell if it was just the flip flop or my foot coming down on him.
The next few minutes must have been like days to him. Just cowering there on the cold floor, staring up at my feet, shiny with sweat as I scrunched my toes, flexed them, rolled my ankle, all giving him a good horrorshow. He never stopped crying, even as my right foot slowly descended onto him.
I remember the feeling of him under the ball of my foot. That first sensation of his hands against my skin, trying to do the impossible and resist something so much more powerful. I can't describe to you how that felt though. I didn't know I could get that turned on, and it was just the beginning.
I held my foot there for a bit, my heel on the ground, the ball of the foot lowered just enough to allow him to try to push it away. God, I can't imagine what he was going through. The fear, of course, but what about the heat? And the smell? My feet had been sweating since I slipped them into the flip flops, and I'd skipped my shower. Just think of what it must have been like for him, trying not to have his palms slip off my sole, all the while that sole hanging over him.
When I pressed down further, slowly, like a car crusher, and just as unstoppable to him. I could feel his entire body between my foot and the floor as his screams muffled to nothing. I savored that feeling. I wasn't pressing down hard, so I could still feel his squirming, and every twitch of his body went straight to my libido. Gently, so as not to ruin the finale, I twisted the ball of my foot, easily sliding on the linoleum and sweat. His body rolled and slid with it, unable to do anything but be battered about by the tide of flesh he was under.
I lifted my foot off of him, or at least I tried to. He actually stuck to the ball of my foot, and I had to reach down and peel him off. I couldn't help but laugh as he slipped free, almost like a cartoon character from where sweat had almost glued him to my sole. He fell back to the floor, coughing, sputtering, and still crying. His clothing, simple things that had to be custom made, had been soaked and shredded. I remember that even as I was laughing at how pathetic he looked, I said goodbye to him, and waved before quickly put him back under the ball of my foot.
From there I couldn't tell you how long it took. I recall, however, that he was struggling right up to the end. Right up until I lifted my heel, and pushed down with the ball of my foot. It's difficult to describe the sensation, especially if you've never done it, but his body gave some brief resistance. Not anything terribly substantial, more like stepping on a piece of fruit or a ketchup packet, yeah that's kind of like the feeling. Like a fast food ketchup packet rupturing. His body just gave way under my foot.
Feeling him ooze up slightly between my toes as I twisted my foot on his remains, oh my God. I'm not embarrassed to admit that I masturbated like crazy then, twice. I mean, there was no one else in the building.
When I was done, I wiped up the stain with a tissue and wiped down my own desk area, resetting Gregory's little ramp. I went home and called the teacher, still frantic over whatever disaster had kept them away, and put on my best "sore throat" voice to explain that I wasn't feeling well, and wouldn't be in.
And that was that. I didn't even get questioned by the police.
Of course, I've enjoyed far more activities with shrunken people since then, but there's still a soft spot in my heart, and my pussy, for squishing them beneath my feet. It's hard to compete with a bare foot, a hard floor, and a screaming man between them.
Oh, don't give me that look, I've got different plans for you. With you, I want to enjoy this whole day. My class schedule has me all over campus today, and I think you'll make a great addition to my day, stuck inside my boot.
These boots are kind of old, and no one really wears them anymore, but they are almost knee high, fur lined, and very warm thanks to some heavy insulation. Even on a cool day like this, they turn into saunas real quick. And just because I know you're wondering, I didn't shower today. Do me a favor and try to stay near the toes when I'm walking, I want you to be alive tonight for even more fun.
Bye bye, and oh, I almost forgot, if you're really good and show my foot the affection it deserves, I'll let you out for a few minutes during lunch before I switch you to the other boot.