“Ohhh you're so close. Come on little one, just a little further and you can join your friends~.” 

That was the game's promise, spoken repeatedly to those “contestants” forced to play it. That, with enough effort, and through enough pain, you might be rewarded with the chance to reunite with your equally unfortunate companions. Not people you'd have known for years, but rather those forced into a similar position of life or death. Play the game, survive, and all your problems will be a thing of the past.

Simple on paper. In practice… it couldn't be further from the truth. 

Case in point, looking at how Dylan, the most recently caught “participant”, now struggling beneath a foot so large it comically encompassed his diminutive form, it became horrifyingly clear that survival of any means wasn't an outcome often won. 

One need only look at how the poor man's body broke beneath the otherwise meager weight placed on top of him to understand the odds all who played the game were faced with, and how the scarlet-haired beauty above held all the cards that dictated the value of the lives of those she claimed. 

This was her game, she played by her rules, and not once has she ever lost. 

A snap was heard… followed shortly after that by a wet pop. All eyes, a set of fourteen total, turned to look toward the sky and watched at how the pink lips of their captor curled downward. 

An audible scoff resonated across the spacious black room. “Oh dear… I hope whatever that was, it wasn't important…”

For Dylan's sake, the rest hoped so as well. Yet even if it wasn't, this brief break, an abrupt mood killer, in play was enough to warrant a death sentence. Undeserved, but by this point expected. 

Around the poor man's body, the colossal foot that pinned him down dragged across his small frame, positioning itself until he was firmly placed between its big and middle toes. Seeing his opportunity, Dylan tried to crawl away, yet through the pain he felt he could only move so far; his feeble attempts amounting to less than nothing. Something had clearly given out, yet what it was he couldn't say. Not with his whole body in equally blinding pain.

The toes that surrounded the minuscule man slowly scrunched, maneuvering his forward head, forcing it into the space between. Not with so much force that his head might pop, but all it'd take would be the gradual application of just a teensy bit more pressure to see the job through. 

But that wasn't the goal here. All there was was curiosity. From the woman who held so many lives in her hands, and who'd by morning would have just that many more to toy with. She raised Dylan on high, eager to see what it was that had popped, and what it now might be that stained her otherwise flawless, colorless sole. 

No matter how many times her face came into view, the terror of seeing this temptress never failed to inspire dread within her playthings. From the deep magenta of her eyes to the three beauty marks that decorated her face, despite being the stuff of legends that men of renown might seek out, the angelic beauty before everyone was more akin to a devil.

A genuine demon.

Hell on Earth, in the form of one so sublime. 

The monstrously beautiful vixen narrowed her eyes, observing the “man” in front of her. Their nose scrunched in displeasure the moment they saw the source of the sudden wetness that blemished her pristine foot.

“Would you look at that,” She lulled, her voice far too heavenly for someone so horrifying. “Looks like it was your leg that gave out. Now isn't that a pity, poor Baby…”

Looking down, Dylan's Body ran cold the moment his eyes fell upon the flattened mess that was once his left leg. Not from the prospect that he might never be able to walk again, but from the knowledge that he had just lost the “game”. 

“I suppose that means that's it for you.” The towering Demoness spoke. There was no way this poor little man could continue. “And I had such high hopes too.”

In a panic, Dylan looked to his Goddess, his eyes widening in fear as he tried, and failed, to find some means to appease this all-dominating executioner. “Miss Arabella, wait! I… I can still entertain you, I promise! I can still play your game!”

Arabella smiled, her lips almost pursing at the otherwise adorable display. Some of her pets were just too cute to resist, especially when they began to beg. “Oh, I know Sweetie. And you will,” steadily, the pressure previously placed against both sides of Dylan's head began to grow, his Tormentor’s toes beginning to close in like a vice grip. Soft flesh became steel-like in texture, and before long the shrunken man's vision began to redden and blur. “But this time it won't be something we both can have fun with.”

Clawing at the nigh-impervious flesh of the digits that crushed him, the shrunken man uselessly struggled towards some imperceivable chance at survival. Something, anything he might be able to do, or even say, that might mean his life would be spared. To show that his life had meaning!

“MISS ARABELLA PLEASE!!! I CAN-”

The toes came together in their entirety, and with them Dylan's had endured far more than it could take, his head popping in a manner less impressive than that of even a grape. Whatever last words he might have had, they'd only be remembered by those shrunken and small like himself, in fear, forced to bear witness to this all too familiar act of brutality. 

With his head, or lack thereof, no longer lodged between the vice grip of Arabella's toes, the body of the shrunken man fell rather pathetically, crumbling into itself, only a few death throes occurring to remind everyone that, just moments prior, this was a living man. 

The redheaded Demoness above chuckled as she flexed her all-mighty digits, taking in and marveling at the comparative omnipotence they held over those too small to resist them. She watched as the gore of her failed plaything clung between the extremities that ended his life, snapping away only after she brought her foot down on top of his mangled body to finish the job. 

Arabella cooed in pleasure as meat and bone were ground up beneath her. She'd never grow tired of this intoxicating feeling. The complete control she held over the lives and deaths of those who sought her out. It was addicting. There was no other vice in the world that might compare.

That it was all done in clear view of those many who survived was even better. The proverbial cherry on top. 

“It's… ngh… it's just like I said…” She sputtered in between the occasional moan. A blush formed and expanded as a smile spread across the Devilish Woman's lips. “You were entertaining… up until the very end, Sweetie.”

Arabella’s body quivered as the squelching beneath her foot grew less and less audible, whatever remains were left behind slowly being reduced to a fine, frictionless paste. It was all that could be done to make the most of this while time still remained. 

Her hands traced across her thighs.

Her fingers reached the space between them for a quick rub. 

The giant woman closed her eyes, trying to focus only on what remained of her latest victim, and the face they made when they so desperately begged for their life. 

A bit more, that's all she asked, so that she might arrive.

Unfortunately for her, as well as those who had survived just so that they might see their companion's death, there was nothing else that could be garnered from someone so thoroughly obliterated. Dylan's remains were quite literally ground beyond the bone, more akin to mud than a corpse by this point. They were well past the point of satisfying anyone. 

Opening her eyes, Arabella huffed in annoyance over her inability to finish. “Damn it all… this is what I get for playing around too long.”

She breaks her toys long before she can get any real use out of them. 

Lifting her foot, the amatory woman peeled her sole away from what little remained of Dylan, the broken man now nothing more than a red smudge that'd be washed away by morning. He certainly left behind quite a spectacular mess, both on the floor and on his Tormentor’s skin. It'd be unbecoming of her, were she to be found like this. Eloquently dressed yet playing with toys. 

But her reputation was the furthest thing from Arabella’s mind, and while her cute little boy had popped nicely enough, they were hardly what she needed to feel satisfied.

The redheaded She-Devil desired more. 

Far more than any singular tiny could ever hope to give her. It was her mistake to think just one could. 

Momentarily sulking, Arabella's sights unexpectedly fell onto those who had just stood by and watched as she abused and murdered an otherwise innocent man. Like their dead friend, they too seemed so utterly adorable when terrified. 

It was really the only reason why any of them were kept around for any extended periods of time. 

Too cute to get rid of right away. To keep and to watch, no different than actual pets, until it was their turn to play their captor’s twisted games. 

A revelation struck Arabella, and steadily her spirits rose; lifted now that she recalled how poor little Dylan wasn't the only toy she had in her possession. 

There was a venerable collection of them right here in front of her. 

“My oh my, I had almost forgotten… you little things come in sets,” the Titanic Woman mused as she stood from her seat. Once more, her foot fell upon the puddle that once was her latest victim, her powerful legs pushing her body skyward as the whole of her awe-inspiring weight rested on the ground. “It couldn't be helped considering the fun I was having… excluding the poor finish. I was just bound to forget about you all sooner or later~.”

That… was sort of the hope. 

While it was cruel to say, were something to have been gained from Dylan's death, it’d have been how his sacrifice was what they all needed to get away. 

Satisfaction of their tormentor, and the subsequent opening they’d have to find some sort of escape. 

It was all squandered though. Whatever chances they had were crushed, just like their unfortunate friend. 

“Don't worry… I'll be sure to make up for my neglect~.” 

Arabella's shadow alone blanketed all seven of those who remained, every one of them too terrified to move as their soon-to-be executioner began to move onto her knees. Just the simple action of lowering herself, such mundane motion, was more than enough to inspire an almost otherworldly pressure. As though, while her shadow continued to expand, the weight of what was to come would crush them long before Arabella could. 

A kindness really, when compared to what she might actually do. 

“It really is a shame sweet little Dylan broke the way he did. I honestly thought you little cuties could survive a little bit of pressure. But I just always seem to forget how fragile you all are~.”

One among the seven, a woman, couldn't take it anymore. Anxiety and fear too much to bear, she took off running opposite of her captor. Where she was fleeing, she couldn't say. All the terrified woman knew was that, were she to stick around, a fast death wasn't something she'd be graced with. 

This way… maybe this way, she'd be able to buy herself a few minutes more?

Several more shared this idea, following the woman's lead and taking off soon after. A ways away from the woman herself, but still further from their hungry Goddess than those who chose to stand in acceptance of what was to come. 

Those final four prayed. Not to whatever gods they worshiped. Not to whatever devils that might heed their words. They prayed to the woman smiling innocently above, wishing at least for a quick death. 

Words so easily discarded as Arabella only focused on her growing lust. 

She leaned forward, bringing her body down against the cold floor, uncaring as her dress was dirtied and run taut. An arm stretched outward, the Vixen positioned herself carefully, knowing which of the seven she wanted most right now. 

As the Titaness lay down, those that refused to run found themselves enshrouded beneath the expanse of her crotch; heavy and moist, eager to finish what had already been started. The She-Devil's blush grew brighter as she felt the four bodies collapse beneath her world splitting weight, whatever resignation they had before devolving into pleasurable struggles for their lives. 

Those who took off after the first runner were arguably less fortunate, turning back in bleak curiosity the moment they heard screams. As a result, they soon found their visions obscured by sudden clothed mounds of several metric tons of tit flesh. 

One's body gave out almost immediately on impact, cracking violently as red-tinged ichor sprayed outward in all directions, only mere moments before they were flattened. The second of the two found themselves trapped, pressed against the cold floor, unable to move yet never pushed to the point where their body broke completely. Instead, they were stuck, and were it not for their minor struggles they'd have noticed an even smaller mound poking through the dark cloth. A sign of enticement, further fueled by their breathless movements. 

Arabella's hands clenched, and for a split second she had all but forgotten about the last of her prey. 

Her mind fogged as she focused on the struggles of those already beneath her body. Kicks and punches against her most intimate of areas, the convulsions of a man rapidly losing air beneath her breast, it was all so very stimulating. 

It wasn't long before, in a state of wild abandon, Arabella began to motion her hips back and forth, grinding them left and right as she maneuvered those beneath her further against her well and dripping cunt, craving nothing but their total obliteration. She pushed herself further against the cold tile floor, and the single man underneath her hill-sized tit exploded. 

“G-glorious…”

Resuming her hunt, the Demoness’s hand lunged outward, grabbing hold of the last of her victims. The woman who thought to run, and in so doing damned every single one of her companions to a death they'd have never wished for. 

Yet even with this final prize in hand, Arabella had all that she needed and more. Men and women crunching beneath her pussy. Two more flattened beneath her breasts. Dylan's liquefied remains drying up against her sole. 

She already had everything she could have wanted. All that the cruel Vixen needed now was something to savor.

The woman was brought forward towards her captor’s waiting lips, pressed against their soft embrace as Arabella continued to mutilate those unfortunate enough to have aroused her monstrous libido. Another quick but powerful thrust and several more snaps popped across her intimacy.

“P-please… don't break too fast now…” Arabella urged, her breathing parted, her words stalling to a slur. "Th-this… is the most you little… little ones will ever get o-out of life, after all…” 

Snaking out from between her lips, the redhead's tongue poked through and worked its way across its feminine treat's body. While not one to occasionally partake in the taste of women… it couldn't be denied that they had a certain sweetness to them. 

The redheaded Vixen pulled back, a strand of spit still connecting her and her prize. “So… you all may as well make the most of it…”

A sudden yelp, that's all the shrunken woman was allowed the moment Arabella opened her mouth wide, revealing to them the wet cavern of flesh and bone that would soon encompass their entire being. She was tossed in without care, her head scraping against her colossal tormentor's incisors. 

A gash formed, and as the woman landed square in the center of Arabella's tongue, the first thing tasted was the metallic sweetness of their blood. 

The Monstrous Woman's eyes went wide; her mouth shut completely, as that proved to be the edge needed to send this devil over the edge. 

All at once, those few that remained alive beneath her shattered; the whole of her bodily weight coming down on them in one last merciless swivel of her hips. The state of her dress would be worried about later, or perhaps not at all, as Arabella further ground their remains into the tiles of the floor. No different than how she had treated poor Dylan, the pops of their corpses only served to further propel their executioner towards greater heights, the euphoric high of her orgasm staining the ground just as much as their bodies. 

Win or lose, it didn't matter. At the end of the day the game was always hers. 

Sucking on her treat, Arabella extracted as much flavor as she could from the shrunken woman's meager body, as well as potentially plucking free their eyes from their sockets. Whatever might have happened within her may, it didn't matter, as with one longing gulp the unfortunate woman, the sole “survivor” of this whole ordeal, was sent downward, through a tight esophagus, their sweet bloody nectar in tow. 

With a sigh, this cruel mistress who delighted in debts and death turned onto her back, her arms sprawled across the floor. As one might expect, she was just covered in filth now. From her plump breasts down to her soiled feet. All that remains of those who would play her games would be washed away in time, their names forgotten, though the memory of their adorable and terrified faces would be the subject of many pleasurable nights to come. 

It's the highest honor these sweet little things could earn, trying so desperately to live as humans, yet never being able to measure beyond anything other than a passing interest. Mistreated and misused, most people would look past these poor and unfortunate souls, seeing them as… pests.

But not Arabella.

She saw their value. 

She cherished them in ways they could never understand, and while many might consider her actions abhorrent… It was the highest form of recognition they could hope for. 

Who else would give them the chance to play her games? 

Who else would allow them the opportunity to win their hearts' desires, whether it be money, power, or simple acknowledgment that they were “people”?

To make a name for themselves, to be seen as human: this was the greatest wish every minuscule individual craved.

The fact that not a single one has ever won the games they themselves agreed to, however, was a fault entirely of their own. Made from their flawed perception of equality.

THIS… was their place in the world. Used for the satisfaction of those larger than them. Arabella worked to uphold the natural order of things. To remind them all of this undeniable fact.  

But as of now, that didn't matter. 

Laying there on the cold floor, basking in the afterglow of her glorious discharge, Arabella, the cruel mistress of inevitable opportunities, hummed peacefully to herself. 

What a treat this night was… 

And how many more would she have to look forward to, once more contestants came seeking her favor? 

What her future had in store for her was a question she never really knew the answer to… and yet it remained one she was always delighted to have answered.

She simply couldn’t wait for her next game to begin.