“So you’re their little champion?” The optics of Henry standing up against her must have looked silly to anyone else as she absolutely dwarfed him. Those ten bulbous toes flexed on either side of him, scraping against the wood. Faint lines of muscle moved visibly by her calf and ankles. “They think a mage can save them. I’ll make an example of you before these humans.”
Henry sent his arms skyward, enveloped in golden energy. “Are you gonna fight or talk?” That line did well in provoking her. Her left knee bending, her dusty sole rose up and blocked her face, growing larger as it fell. Henry sped forward. He spun and kicked the side of her standing ankle, enough force to give it a slight pivot.
The prickle of explosive force surprised her, the raised foot kicking back in pure reaction, a quick sole tapping him. But Henry braced for the impact well, catching himself after the short flight and establishing balance immediately. When she turned and jumped towards him, he had plenty of time to act. Henry jumped towards the ledge of the table and kicked himself off it so that, when her soles crashed right where he’d stood, Henry flied towards her chin. He landed on the decline of her collar bone and immediately threw two stubs of golden energy up, striking the jawline. She exclaimed through a shut mouth, grimacing and holding her mouth. He made her bite her tongue.
A hand came fast, and Henry dove down. Hasty and with difficult balance on her collarbone, Henry jumped sloppily. His crotch fell straight on the neckline of her robe, straddling it, but the momentum of his landing had him reel inwards, so he fell into her breast. The two fatty globes received him, and looking up past her neckline, a large angry face glared back, eyes watery from having bit her tongue. Henry dove in between the breast, trying to push through, but she hugged herself. The world was a cage of soft flesh, and the walls closed around him, pinning everything just below his shoulders. Henry’s head stuck out between her breast, visible from outside as a little lump prodding through the robe. The fragrant scent of a lime perfume barely made it past the smell of sweat and hot fabric. He grunted as she squeezed harder, the soft and malleable tit flesh claiming all the space around his outline, but Henry persevered and remained alert. This hold was far from absolute. She had to squeeze hard to keep him there, and if the pressure relented, Henry could pull his arms free and push himself out. The servant underestimated Henry’s tenacity by thinking this hold on him was ideal and that damage was being delivered, continually pressing, giving the gentlest release just to squeeze again, pumping him. “Do you see, people?” The servant spoke to the group. “Look at how I toy with him!”
Scoring a glimpse past her neckline, her lips showed a satisfied smile. There were a few horrified gasps and others sounds of dejection from the crowd. They thought she was winning. “This is nothing!” Henry shouted. “If you think she’s winning, then—” The compressing flesh interrupted his words.
She laughed victoriously. “What’s the matter, boy? If this is nothing, how do you have trouble speaking? Hmm?” There was a certain direction to the tit compressions now, pushing forward, clamping, then retracting. She tried to move Henry deeper within, swallow him whole.
Due to how she pressed her breast, the nipples were directed inwards, close to Henry’s head, and he saw his way out. Only able to move shoulders and above, he reached with his head and caught the fluffy nipple with his mouth. Henry bit, she shrieked. His tight world shook and opened, her breast parting to remove the source of pain. With a wet pop, Henry released her nipple and used the freer space to push down, barely dodging the palm which enclosed the nipple. Henry plummeted from her breast, her ribcage and stomach scrolling past him. She thrust her hip forward and the edge of her thong caught his legs, sending all his momentum into the cupped slide of her thong. The smell and heat brought him back to Ada, a pair of lips before him which could swallow him snugly from shoulder to shoulder. Fortunately, the thong was loose, letting his weight sag into it instead of being tightly pressed. But Henry dove down as soon as he collected himself, for he expected, correctly so, a hand to come slapping against her nethers to trap him. He hung onto the thong line directly under her, for the moment she felt his weight missing between her legs, she expected him to be falling down. She stamped wildly, up and down, sweeping the floor with her soles, her feet searching frantically for the human expected underneath her. The movement caused Henry to be flailed about from where he held her thong, spanking against her thighs like a pendulum, and he used the momentum to swing with his arms and release. Feeling him, the servant stopped her stampede and closed her thighs together to trap him, but it was too late. Henry had already thrown himself with an outward momentum, out from behind her ass, and he found his way out from the labyrinth that was her body as she stood bewildered at the lack of a prey between her thighs.
A shocked gasp came over the crowd, excited whispers, several pointing at him. “He’s out, and he’s fine!”
Chin on her shoulder, the servant saw him with a turn back. Not amused, she had one hand over her mouth and another over her nipple. With a sideway turn, her foot went for him. Henry dodged to the side and unleashed three rapid punches dripping with energy right on her pinky toe. She exclaimed and swept the foot, Henry dodging again. He might not be able to deliver one decisive blow, but all his smaller ones mounted, death by a thousands cuts.
“Do you surrender?” More of a taunt than a legitimate question, Henry grinned alongside it.
“Yea!” a younger boy from the crowd shouted, him and his twin brother jumping ecstatically. “Show her!” Their mother tugged at their ears and hushed them.
The servant made a stupid noise with her mouth, frowning. “You’re only making it worse for when I do catch you.” She came charging at him. Henry dodged the first stomp, though it wasn’t so much of a stomp as it was another casual footstep, leaving her with plenty of mobility to send a second foot right after him. A line of toes punted him across the room, a stunned exclamation erupting from the crowd. Henry collided into the wall just beneath the roof, sliding down. The floor came earlier than expected, and he realised he was on a high shelf. Beside him were columns of glass containers, the nearest one a glittery green liquid Henry knew as feredur. It was an enhancer, if spilled upon an area and left there for a few hours, it would strengthen all magic used there, most useful for rituals and long, demanding spells.
It was also very expensive.
With his empowered strength Henry pushed it to the lip of the shelf where just a breeze the right way would send it falling, and leaned against its side. “Can’t imagine your boss would be happy having a bottle of feredur wasted,” Henry said, shooting her a cocky look, and her advance towards him stopped. “And at the hands of a human you couldn’t subdue. Quite an embarrassing ordeal, that. Actually, looking to my left here, I see two vials of senzlem, some sillersten, and ardrot. Not easily replaced, are they?”
The servant was fuming, jaw clenched, hands balled into fists.
Henry laughed. “Speechless, are we?” Though he found himself at a difficult situation. What would he do with this advantage? He only had this control over her while up here on the shelf, these vials were no hostages he could take with himself. The moment he left the shelf he’d lose the leverage. There was only one option. “You’re going to get the hell out of here, just like the younger girl before you. If you don’t, there’ll be an expensive mess here to explain to your boss.”
The two twin boys who were no older than eleven jumped at the front of the crowd, triumphant and loud. “That’s right! Tell her!”
“You get out of here, you big bitch! Humans are strong too!” A few members of the crowd behind the two giggled.
Henry chuckled too, an exciting tickle in his heart. He was doing it. He was winning.
The servant was red with fury and shame, a feeling of helplessness delivered by humans. But something in her deadpan expression changed. Watching the two boys and the crowd in what was silent anger at first, it changed to something more measured, a thoughtfulness which unnerved Henry. She should be at a loss. Her eyes turned to him, a smirk arriving from a place Henry could never have predicted.
“The thought of me crashing all this stuff is funny to you?” Henry said. He didn’t understand. The servant watched the crowd, then him again. Now he did.
She marched towards the people. The twin boys and their aggressive excitement died to the shadow overcoming them, as the servant raised a careful foot and placed it upon them. Shoulder to shoulder under the sole, one of them had his head under her third and fourth toe, the other one’s head was under her first. The crowd gasped and backed off, all except the mother who ran up to the foot and got on her knees.
“Please, lady, those two boys are all I have!” she hollered out. One of them had his head sideways, the big toe resting possessively on his skull. His one free arm reached out and punched the foot in vain. In response, the big toe added pressure, his cheeks pressed together so his mouth formed a long O and started drooling. He whelped pathetically, tears forming, and the other twin between the third and fourth toe writhed and moaned uncomfortably.
The mother cast herself over the giant’s foot. “Please, anything. Don’t hurt them.” She kissed the big toe which threatened her son’s head, licked maniacally, leaving a stretch of clean dust-free skin along the tongue’s path. “Anything, I beg you.” She grabbed her son’s hand to comfort him.
“Hey, leave them alone!” Henry shouted. “Need I remind you? I’ll—”
The servant pointed below her. “If you don’t come down here and surrender, I’ll destroy this crowd, starting with these two boys. I wonder how well their bodies will take it, without magic as strong as yours.” The big toe gave the boy’s head another threatening add of force, pressing the whelps out of him as if he were a squeaky toy. The mother didn’t worship anymore, all eyes on Henry, and it hit him how everything depended on him. Although Henry had fought her well, he did so by outmanoeuvring her, not by challenging her sheer power. He couldn't stop her size if she unleashed a rampage on the crowd.
Henry jumped down the shelf, forsaking the one advantage he’d found. The crowd had always been there for her to use. Perhaps she’d been inspired to take hostages from Henry doing it with the chemicals, or perhaps those loud-mouthed twins got her attention and provoked the idea. Whatever it was, Henry had to march obediently before her.
The servant’s right foot was on the twins, and the standing left one raised the front, supported on the heel. “Get in,” she commanded. Henry lay under the ball and toes hovering above him.
“Alright, leave them al—”
Like a trapdoor, the foot swung down upon him. His head was under the fourth and third toe, slightly more towards the fourth, and from there to the big toe his torso was fully covered. Her right foot rose, leaving the twins, the mother embracing them. It came to Henry and fell over his lower body, altogether a row of eight toes swallowing him.
“Time to pay,” she said, and the toes started flexing upon his body, curling and uncurling, clawing at him with soft flesh. The toes turned yellow from the pressure, curling in, reaching out, then curling back in. Each retraction brought him closer, and when they had tucked him tight underneath the space between the toes and the balls of her feet, her heels left the ground, putting more weight on him, the toes continually clawing. He kept his mouth shut, but he couldn’t contain his choked groans from being heard, the toes ruthlessly finding ways to get them out. Henry lost track of time and space in this pressurized foot oven. He felt like his bones were disappearing, turned into a lump of stubborn dough being worked by the baker. The incessant grinding of his naked body against her toes produced plenty of heat and sweat, sweat which his skin and her flesh exchanged and merged with one another. Henry couldn’t tell where her toes ended and his body began, the world a constant force of heat and sweat. The toeprints from Ada had just started to fade, and now this servant made sure to replace them with proper ones which would last even longer.
The kneading continued. More than Henry, it was a message for the crowd, to punish them for daring to hope. Every additional squeeze and toe press, every extra second was to make sure even the tiniest opinion of thinking a human stood a chance were gone. Henry was a symbol for human hope, and if hope were water and he a wet rag, the toes tried to wring it all out of him. And after all the jumping around he’d done, she wanted to make sure he’d be down and defeated after this, so she went the extra mile, prolonging the process, ensuring not one speck of his body went untouched, the toes like vampiric fangs trying to drain him of all vitality.
Someone in the crowd wanted to ask if it weren’t enough already, but another stopped him. Henry did his best to keep his mouth shut, breathing the hot foot air through his nose, but an exceptional bit of force scored a gasp out of him. So all-consuming were her feet and toes that the instant his lips parted, a mouthful of toe flesh found its way inside. It was surprisingly soft, the nub of flesh just on the tip of her fourth toe’s underside. It claimed all the volume within his mouth, and it seemed she recognised the situation, for that portion of her foot retracted harder, making sure the entire tip of her fourth toe was jammed into his mouth. His cheeks puffed out from fullness. Henry didn’t know his mouth could fit so much as the flesh claimed more and more volume, his drool gathering and dripping down her toe. It was almost as soft as her nipple, Henry found. Just moving his tongue into more comfortable positions caused him to inadvertanly lick it. Why was his manhood reacting? He could understand when her tits enveloped him. Ada’s words came to mind, when she said Henry was that kind of guy. He had to control himself. There was plenty to lose in becoming servile. Even as he lay here, her feet and toes a ruthless meatgrinder destroying him, Henry retained his pride. Yes, he retained it, for he had not lost, he had given himself over in exchange for these people’s protection. He had fought his battle admirably, and managed to handle her. This was an act of heroism, and everyone there knew it. So he had to resist the succulent nub of toe flesh in his mouth, to not worship, not give in to his desires, for there was plenty to lose down that road.
The mixture of grinding balls and flexing toes ceased, and the world had never been such a peaceful place. Like the rip of wallpaper, her right foot parted from his lower body, their sweaty marriage undone. The air was cool against his legs. The left foot rose, though with no pressure elsewhere to keep him down, he followed, a helpless ragdoll plastered in place.
The servant brought that foot over the crowd, rotating her ankle gracefully, as if this were some piece of art and they judges to assess its value. “This right here is your champion,” she said. The foot hovered about for everyone to see. “This is what happens when humans challenge us. Do not forget that you were shivering in those boxes just a moment ago. That is your true place. Humans who try and become strong, who choose to fight, end up like this.” It returned to them, the drooped shoulders, the cowering pose, the disbelief with which they had greeted the world when their box had been smashed open and poured inside. They were dumb for ever believing.
Wrinkling her sole to have Henry loosen somewhat, the servant kicked and sent him flying. He landed right before the front door. He could have gotten up and moved with great effort, but didn’t bother. With the crowd as her hostage, he was under her mercy anyway.
The servant turned to the crowd. “Now, I want all of you to get in line, and one by one you’re going to pass him by and give him a kick while he’s down. Two kicks are encouraged.” There was inaction, and the servant stepped closer, threatening them with her nearness. “Or is anyone else interested in what it feels like to be a hero?”
Henry couldn’t recall if the fight between the Charmer and Velvet had been this audible before. Understandably, his time in the oven of grinding foot flesh had blocked the rest of the world from him. But they were terribly close now. And he didn’t hear the metal of their daggers clanging. Their steps were now on the porch.
The front door slammed open, and there stood the Charmer, her grace all but gone. Her long hair, in elegant dark locks first, was now tousled from constant tossing with plenty of stray hairs. Her dress by the stomach was ripped open with plenty of other tatters hanging from it, the hems wet and dripping. She held a bleeding shoulder, a few drops of blood splattered on her cheeks. For the first split second, desperation overcame Henry, thinking of how Velvet’s dead body floated in that pond and how the Charmer returned in her bloody victory. But those wide eyes of hers were those of fear, her hurried breaths were those still in battle. The Charmer rushed inside, and her dirty sole landed straight on Henry. His sweaty body made him stick to it easily, and when her dirty foot laden with twigs and blades of grass rose, he rose with it, following her sprint in a crushing hurricane he was well-accustomed to by now.
The servant voiced worry at her mistress’s wounds, approached to help, but was wholly ignored as the Charmer bolted for the hallway. One hand held the bleeding shoulder and the other was empty, the dagger missing. Velvet rushed in through the front door, holding two daggers. The servant cowered from the bounty hunter’s path, and Velvet paid her no attention, the steely resolve of a predator as the Charmer was the only thing in the world which mattered.
The Charmer burst into a room down the hallway, a gloomily lit one with a pentagram in the middle. She forced herself to stand still upon it, Henry yet underfoot, and found a sliver of disciplined calm in the moment. The Charmer recited an incantation. Velvet Rowfield appeared at the doorway and threw one of the daggers, finding the Charmer’s upper arm. She ground her teeth together, seething, but proceeded with the incantation. A light appeared.
“No!” Velvet screamed, not throwing the other dagger but running towards the Charmer with a glowing palm, trying to interrupt the spell. Her palm struck the Charmer’s shoulder blade, the light, first a tranquil thing to take her away swiftly, wavered now like bubbling water. It hissed, but grew still, and with a flash the world went white.
Henry woke. The first thing he noticed was that he lay on thin and sparse grass, the soil loamy. He sat up, within a woodland. The Charmer wasn’t around, nor Velvet, nor was he on another pentagram. The spell had been interrupted but still went through. There were a few treetops, and an especially large one told him he was still in Gintessa. But that said very little, especially to a human. “Where the hell am I now?”