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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

“Ralph?”

“Are you listening, Ralph?”

Ralph Carter emerged from a vivid, gripping reverie to find himself ensconced within the tastefully appointed environs of his therapist’s office. He blinked several times, skeptical of the fabric of reality returned, and then focused his gaze on Dr. Johnstone’s attractive face.  Shit, what was she saying?

Dr. Trish Johnstone paused a moment, allowing her client to ‘recalibrate.’ His abnormal mind, she well knew, was prone to wandering. When Ralph seemed to have composed himself, the doctor tucked her right foot behind her left ankle and continued speaking in her patented ‘calm and clinical’ tone. “Ralph, you’ve been coming to me for nearly three years now with the hopes of addressing your, ahem, sexual dysfunction, is that right?”

Ralph could not help observing his therapist’s long, stockinged legs in action, any more than he could keep his eyes off the shiny black high heels Dr. Johnstone had been alternately dangling from one or the other nimble toe since the afternoon’s session began. The therapist’s athletic, well-formed limbs stretched all the way up into a stylish, hip-hugging, burgundy pencil skirt, into which was tucked one of her innumerable, frilly, white blouses—the kind that never quite seemed fully up to the task of containing her large, full breasts.

“Ahh, yes, doctor, that, ah, sounds about right.” Ralph shifted his weight upon his leather wing-back chair, admonishing himself for the tenth, or eleventh time for ‘getting off track’ and letting Dr. Johnstone down.

“And do you remember what you said to me during our first session when I asked you what you were hoping to achieve in seeing a therapist?” The mid-forties mother of three (who’d maintained her figure, and then some) with a severe chestnut bob and a penchant for tortoiseshell frames, leaned forward towards her client.

Ralphs’ reply tumbled clumsily from his mouth: “Yeah, I uh, said I wanted help with my—”

“—You said—” The doctor’s sudden interjection cut Ralph off like a maniac in rush hour traffic, “—Dr. Johnstone: I just want to stop fantasizing about being dominated by 400-foot-tall giant women. Please help me to understand why I get off on imaging them crushing and devouring me!”

“Giantess,” Ralph mumbled the correction under his breath while he eyed the fetching raised mole just above the corner of Dr. Johnstone’s sensual mouth. Her lips were painted a bright, sports car red. For a fleeting moment, Ralph imagined what it might be like to be that mole.

“What’s that?” The therapist almost, but not quite, revealed a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“Giantess,” Ralph cleared his throat and spoke up. When they’re women they’re called giantess.”

“Is that right?” Dr. Johnstone pressed her red lips together while she jotted something on her notepad. She then took a moment for one of her frequent ‘micro-breaks’ from her rather unusual patient, gazing over Ralph’s head towards a beam of pleasing sunlight pouring in through the parted vertical blinds.

“Ralph, do you believe you’ve made reasonable progress towards your mental and sexual health goals in our time together?” Ralph was finding Dr. Johnstone’s movements and body language fascinating, yet incomprehensible. As he watched, she next rested the non-business end of her fancy-looking pen upon the bottom row of her aggressively-whitened teeth and then prodded it with the very tip of her pink, shiny tongue. Now Ralph wanted to be the pen.

“Ahh, yeah, I-I would say—” This time Ralph sensed the cut-in and braced himself.

“—Tell me something Ralph, and be honest,” a quality crept into Dr. Johnstone’s voice which he’d never before detected. She set her pen down atop the legal pad in her lap and steepled her elegant, French-manicured fingers together.

“Of course.” Ralph scratched at his right forearm and formed his own mouth into a smile as he squirmed beneath Dr. Johnstone’s gaze. He was suddenly aware that the backs of his knees were sweaty.

“You were just staring at my feet a moment ago, weren’t you?” The doctor’s tone remained calm and clinical, but an assertiveness had bled in.

“Dr. Johnstone, no I, ah—” Ralph shifted his weight again, attempting to relieve some of the in-trouser pressure that had formed around his semi-hard penis (while trying to appear as though he were accomplishing other, more innocent comfort-aims). He had indeed been staring at the therapist’s irresistible feet. He’d been obsessed with them since the day of their first session and despite Ralph’s best efforts, the doctor had come to feature prominently in his outsized sexual fantasies.

Undeterred, the therapist cut her client off a third time: “—You were staring at my feet, Ralph, and imaging I was one of your giantess women and that I was going to crush you like a little bug underneath my pumps, isn’t that right?” Dr. Johnstone’s eyes bore into Ralph’s, challenging them to drop. They quickly surrendered.

“N-no, Dr. Johnstone, I, was just, ah…ok, ok, yes.” Ralph emitted a long, defeated sigh and wondered for half a second whether he was about to start crying. It had happened before. He composed himself and pressed on with a shaky voice: “I was doing and thinking those things you just said…I’m sorry, y-you deserve more than that Dr. Johnstone. I know you didn’t earn all those fancy degrees on your wall just to be objectified by some pervert like me.”

Ralph’s confession, apology, and appeasement alike were strained through his own laced fingers, in which he’d buried his face as he spoke. Dr. Johnstone waited for her patient to raise his head (only to stare at a “safe” area of floor, far from where her feet rested) before she continued. “Ralph, listen. This is not something I’d ordinarily recommend to my patients, but after three years together, your…struggle with these deviant sexual urges still seems to me to be uniquely, let’s say, intractable, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Uh, I guess so.” I’d like to be that little bug she mentioned, Ralph thought, so that I can slink out of here and go crawl into some hole.

Dr. Johnstone set her notepad and pen aside. She stood up and began a slow, perplexing circuit around Ralph’s chair. The click-clack of her shiny black pumps was particularly pronounced on the buffed hardwood floor. When she’d completed a full 360i0; loop, the therapist stood over Ralph with her hands on her hourglass hips. “I’d like to try something a little unorthodox...”

Suddenly, the doctor leaned in close and placed her red lips right next to Ralph’s ear. Ralph could smell Dr. Johnstone’s perfume (something floral) and feel her hot breath moistening his earlobe. Her heaving bosom was nearer to him than it had ever been—it seemed to give off heat like an engine. 

Dr. Johnstone’s next words came out in a low, husky whisper: “…I’m going to shrink you down to about one and half inches tall and then I’m going to taunt and humiliate you before crushing you savagely beneath my heels.”

“Dr. Johnstone, I, uh…wait what?” A small amount of blood shot rapidly into his penis as Ralph turned his head to look into Dr. Johnstone’s green eyes—they shined with a stirring excitement. The face of his eternally serene, habitually emotionless therapist was so near their lips could touch with a mere, mutual puckering. After a long, charged interval, the doctor stood upright and stepped back.

“I had my receptionist lace your water glass with a shrinking serum—it pays to have friends in the defense industry. It should be taking effect right about…now.” Dr. Johnstone glanced at her expensive, stylish wristwatch and back to Ralph, who’s rapidly shrinking body had already disappeared into what looked like a melting pile of clothes. Seconds later, she bent over and gathered the pile of vacated garments into her arms.

On her ornate, oak desk the doctor shook Ralph’s clothes out until a tiny lump of flesh and hair bounced off her ink blotter and skittered to a stop before a framed 8x10 of her husband and children. Dr. Johnstone hoisted her now roach-sized patient up by the scruff of his neck and brought his thrashing squeaking form before her face. “There we go. Why Ralph, just look at you. You’re so unbelievably tiny. You’ve been reduced to nothing more than an insignificant little insect.”

Were Ralph still wearing pants, he would have been in serious danger of soiling them from fright. Suddenly everything in Dr. Johnstone’s office—the therapist included—had been blown up to gargantuan, surreal, movie-set proportions. As he dangled, nude and helpless, between Dr. Johnstone’s huge and powerful fingers he gawked, first up at the giantess’s intersection-sized face and then down at the colossal swell of her breasts, straining at the buttons of her blouse.

Dr. Johnstone stepped to the center of her office where she bent over and set Ralph gently down upon the hardwood floor. She took an earth-shaking step backwards and lined her patient’s tiny body up evenly between the two pointed toes of her pumps. The sleek, contoured footwear looked to Ralph like a pair of dangerous, alien spacecraft. “Can you hear me down there? Oh, what am I saying, of course you can hear me. My voice must be positively booming to your little ears!”

Ralph eyed Dr. Johnstone’s train-car-sized heels wearily before craning his neck up towards the source of the giantess’ sonorous voice. “Alright Ralph, it’s time for a little old fashioned cognitive behavioral therapy. I know it seems severe, but I’ve come to the conclusion that this is the only way to help you overcome your crippling sexual neurosis.”

As the giantess therapist spoke down to him, Ralph’s took a moment to appreciate the light and shadow at play upon Dr. Johnstone’s soaring, toned calves and slender ankles. Those long, muscular nylon-clad stems resembled  a pair of arousing sequoias stretching way up into the heavens—the heavens of course being that forbidden shadow-land lurking beneath the hem of the therapist’s tight skirt.

“You see Ralph, I’m going to enable you to realize your giantess fantasy. I will of course be assuming the surrogate role of giantess-antagonist in this exercise. My hope is you’ll be able to see how truly extreme and insalubrious your desires are, with the goal of instilling within you an aversion to future stimuli. Shall we begin the exercise Ralph?”

It was difficult to assess Ralph’s emotional state. He was disoriented, of course, by his newfound stature; and terrified, clearly, by the potential dangers posed by being in the presence of an enormous and all-powerful giantess. He was hopeful, too, that perhaps Dr. Johnstone’s unusual methods might well hold out hope for a cure to his obsession. But, of course, there was something else mingled with these complex, palpable emotions: a powerful state of sexual arousal.

“Come here little slave,” the therapist had dropped her calm, neutral cadence and assumed instead a taunting, lusty tenor, “ and lick the bottom of my shoe.” Giantess Dr. Johnstone shifted her (comparatively) immense weight, lifted one of her fetching limbs from the floor, and slowly lowered a pump down to within centimeters of his face. “Do it! Now! If you disobey Ralph, I will not hesitate to crush you beneath this shoe.”

Incredulous, Ralph slowly reached up and placed his palms against the thin, leather sole of Dr. Johnstone’s massive high heel. She was a stylish dresser, and he was certain these pumps were costly and of high quality. Yet this did not exempt their bottoms from collecting all manner of grit, filth, and grime from their days trotting about the city streets. Ralph raised himself up on tip-toe, craning his neck to bring his tiny little tongue in contact with the shoe-bottom.

The taste was not as bad as Ralph expected, not that he’d ask for seconds, but it was the silty, filmy texture that really his Ralph’s stomach. Despite the grotesquery of his actions, he now sported a throbbing erection. He was an obedient little patient, dutifully slurping at Dr. Johnstone’s high-heel sole until her voice thundered down once again.  

“That’s enough little boy. Now, I want you to sniff my feet.” Dr. Johnstone took an earth-quake inducing step back from Ralph, slipped out of her heels and extended a hulking, stockinged foot millimeters from Ralph’s tiny, sensitive nose.

Ralph was intrigued: for such a proper, reserved, well-groomed, stylish, upper-middle-class woman, Dr. Johnstone’s near, massive foot—in spite of its alluring wrinkled sole and soaring, elegant arch—bore a strong odor of rank sweat, mingled with tangy notes of spoiled gorgonzola. I guess no one is exempt from needing a little odor eaters now and then, it is a pretty hot day out after all. “Sniff little slave, inhale the essence of my foot.”

Ralph sniffed and snorted the fetid, humid air about Dr. Johnstone’s giant proffered foot until he nearly passed out from light-headedness. On reflex, he reached up to grab ahold of the therapist’s big toe to steady his balance but found it lifted out of reach. “Uh, ah, ah Ralph, I know you’d just love to touch my feet, but that’s simply not an option. It would be a violation of the sacred doctor-patient relationship. You may look and smell, but you cannot touch.”

With the ground rules laid, Dr. Johnstone performed a graceful ball change and then held her opposing foot out for Ralph’s olfactory inspection. “Are you tuned on Ralph? Did you enjoy licking the filthy bottom of my shoes? Do you like staring at my enormous feet and long legs? Is it because you’re pathetic and worthless, no more consequential than a little insect—and you know it?... Your pitiful, ridiculous little fantasy has finally come to life. Go ahead little foot slave, don’t be shy. I see that tiny cock of yours starting to twitch. Grab hold, give it a tug.”

Ralph glanced up at Dr. Johnstone’s distant, inscrutable face with a quizzical expression. The tone of her voice was flirty and controlling. So unlike her typical even-keel register. Is she serious? “That’s right, this is the next phase of the exercise Ralph, I want you to take your dick in your hands and jerk off to my giantess feet.”

Ralph carefully considered Dr. Johnstone’s professional advice and grabbed ahold of his pulsing hard-on. He began to pump furiously, his eyes racing up the doctor’s long legs and curvaceous body, back down to her ripe, expansive feet: poised before him like two sleek assassins ready to strike any moment without warning.

“That’s a good boy. Jerk it faster, squeeze it harder. Here comes the next part of this exercise, and this one will be crucial to its success or failure. Are you listening Ralph?”

Ralph could not help but listen to Dr. Johnstone, her giantess voice boomed down like a demolition derby track PA announcement. Still his hand worked ever-faster—as though it were a whole separate entity from the rest of his body—upon his cock.

“I’m going to set a timer for 30 seconds Ralph. If you can hold off on blowing your sad little load for that long, there might be some hope for you. We’ll continue our weekly sessions and I think we’ll be able begin making some real, measurable progress.”

“Uh-huh,” Ralph grunted. His below the belt efforts were beginning to tax him.

“However, Ralph, if you prove unable to control yourself, and ejaculate before the thirty seconds are up…well then…I’m going to crush you into a little red smear on the floor, right here and right now. It’s up to you Ralph, I hope you can really dig in, exercise some discipline, and have a breakthrough here today, what do you say?”

“Uh…ok.” Ralph throttled his dick with reckless abandon, feeling his pleasure build towards a delicate precipice.

“Excellent.” Dr. Johnstone heel-toed it over to her desk—the clicks and clacks of her shoes echoed like gunshots inside the Grand Canyon. She took up her phone, manipulated the touch screen and cat walked back to Ralph’s vulnerable position: center of the hardwood floor.

The therapist rested her phone on the floor a foot or so from her tiny patient and angled the movie-theater-caliber screen towards Ralph’s view. She pressed the “start” button and Ralph watched as the towering digital numerals of a stopwatch application began counting down from thirty.

“Ready Ralph, begin! And remember the rules: you’re not to stop jerking your dick and you’re not to take your eyes off of me—if you cum before the timer sounds, you’ll be crushed. No begging or pleading, no second chances, this is it, your fate is in your own two hands—or at least one of them, anyways.”

Ralph listened to his therapist’s advice, working steadily at his member while his eyes drank in the awesome, soaring beauty of Dr. Johnstone’s fit, long legs and high-heeled feet. Within 10-seconds, the fullness of pre-orgasm flooded his loins. Shit, shit, I’m not gonna make it! Ralph attempted to slow his rhythm but found he was too far gone already. His eyes welded shut with pleasure while his pulsating cock fired off a half dozen sticky ropes of hot cum onto the clean, shinning hardwood floor. 

Dr. Johnstone wordlessly reached down and stopped the timer at 16.43 seconds. Look at that, you’ve gone and made your nasty little mess on my floor—though I must say, that’s a rather pitiful little load—really Ralph, I expected a bit more of you…In any case, little man, you’ve failed our little exercise today. I suppose I knew you would all along, it was written all over your tiny little face from the jump. But honestly Ralph, you couldn’t even make it to the halfway point? How humiliating and pathetic.”

As the last waves of pleasure left Ralph’s body the gravity of his situation slowly sunk in. Dr. Johnstone began a slow, taunting walk back and forth before her tiny patient. Ralph flinched with each, thunderous footfall. “Well, I’m a woman of my word. You failed to exercise control over your sexual urges Ralph, and as a result, I will now crush you beneath my pumps. But before I do, I suppose it’s only fair that I offer you my final, professional diagnosis. I will, after all, be publishing your rather fascinating case study in The Journal of Experimental Psychology next month. I expect it will make quite a splash. Shame you won’t be around to read it.”

Ralph listened to Dr. Johnstone gloat, though his eyes did not stray from those roving pumps, like two enormous, sleek black panthers ready to pounce. “You suffer, little Ralph, from a paraphilic disorder classified in the DSM-V as Sexual Deviation Syndrome. Accumulated childhood trauma and sexual abuse—likely at the hands of a domineering mother-figure—has yielded years of chronic deviant and culturally non-sanctioned sexual fantasies, thoughts, and behaviors. Yet, I believe Ralph, that the etiology and pathophysiology of your particular condition stem from abnormalities at a deeper, biological level.”

“Huh?” Ralph blurted out. Not that Dr. Johnstone’s research didn’t sound interesting, but he was a little more focused on the whole imminent crushing thing.

“In short, little man: you’re incurable. It’s hopeless. You’ll go on fantasizing of being dominated, eaten, and crushed by giantess women until the day you die. You’ll never be able to have a normal, healthy relationship with a woman. The only cure, as I’ve alluded to, is for me to crush you into a little red smear on the floor, right here and right now.”

“But wait, Dr. Johnstone, please, don’t do this, it’s just a fantasy, I don’t really want to be crushed!” Ralph squeaked up at the domineering woman towering over him. But his voice wasn’t very convincing. Ralph, in fact, wasn’t so sure what he was saying was true.

Indeed, all of his sexually mature adult life he’d been fixated exclusively on the idea of being the play object of an enormous 400-foot-tall woman. Being dominated, eaten, inserted, crushed; in short, abused, degraded, humiliated, and destroyed. These were the only (imagined) acts that could bring him to orgasm. What hope did he have for a normal, fulfilling life in a world that misunderstood and ostracized his kind?

Dr. Johnstone’s derisive voice continued to drone on from on high: “I hope you enjoyed playing out your little fantasy Ralph. Too bad the first time you actually get to indulge it will, sadly, also be the last.”

Suddenly, Ralph bolted for the cover of a nearby coffee table. The giantess thundered after him and knocked the fugitive flat on his ass with a cruel, concussive stomp (missing him by a hair’s breadth).

“U-tut-tut-tut, don’t you dare run away from me Ralph. There’s no getting out of this one. Little one and a half in tall men don’t get a say in what happens to them, you see. They’re completely at the mercy of the giantess women they so admire. You, Ralph, you’re completely at my mercy. And you know what you disgusting little bug boy? There’s not going be any mercy.”

Dr. Johnstone glanced at her wristwatch. “Now, our session is almost up, lie down and keep still, it’s time to take your medicine.”

Realizing there was little else to be done rather than to, once again, comply with the advice of his therapist, Ralph reclined, supine on the floor, next to his little puddle of rapidly cooling semen. A sudden calmness washed over him as he realized that being crushed by the sexy, sophisticated Dr. Johnstone would be the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Dr. Johnstone stepped up before her prostrate patient, took a moment to steady her balance, and then raised her right foot high overhead. “Goodbye Ralph, nice working with you.”

The bottom of the therapist’s poised high heel cast a shadow over Ralph as he waited tranquilly for the curtain of oblivion to descend. It felt as though ages passed before that hovering pump at last began its lethal decent. The last detail Ralph’s brain alighted upon before he was utterly obliterated beneath the herculean velocity of Dr. Johnstone’s plummeting pump, was a small heart-shaped pebble—to him a large boulder—embedded in the sole of her rapidly approaching footwear.

THWUMP!

“Ralph?”

            “Ralph, are you listening?”

Ralph Carter emerged from a vivid, gripping reverie to find himself ensconced in the tastefully appointed environs of his therapist’s office. He blinked several times, skeptical of the fabric of returned reality, and then focused his gaze on Dr. Johnstone’s attractive face.  Shit, what was she saying?

 

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