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?