The morning sunlight crept through the curtains, heralding the start of a new day, the first of many without Alexis. The house felt unnervingly silent without her cheerful presence. She had left early, her excitement palpable even as I masked my own tumultuous feelings behind a calm goodbye. As the door closed behind her, a part of me felt abandoned, yet another, more secretive part, thrummed with anticipation.

I lingered over my coffee, the house slowly coming to life as Grace, Delaney, and Sam woke up. Their morning routines were punctuated by laughter and the casual ease of a family that had nothing to hide. And there I was, harboring a desire so deep and dark that it felt like a betrayal.

As the early light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the living room, I sat on the plush sofa. Though a book lay open in my lap, my attention was fixed elsewhere, captivated not by printed words but by a more disturbing scene unfolding before me.

Across the room, Delaney reclined languidly in her favorite armchair, her demeanor one of absolute relaxation and control. Beneath her propped-up feet, a shrunken man groaned under the weight, his face contorted in a grimace of humiliation and discomfort. She used him not merely as a footrest but as an emblem of her dominance. Every so often, she would absentmindedly wiggle her toes against his back, pressing down harder as if to remind him of his reduced status in this giant world.

In the kitchen, audible over the hum of morning activity, was Grace. She moved about preparing her breakfast, her movements followed closely by the second of the two shrunken men tasked to serve in our household. He struggled pitifully to keep pace with her, his tiny legs barely managing the distance, his arms trembling as he carried a tray laden with her breakfast—a sight disproportionately large and overwhelming for his minute form. The strain was evident on his face, etched with lines of stress and the stark realization of his helplessness.

Grace, noticing a speck of dirt on her bare foot as she cooked, called over the diminutive man. With a resigned sigh that spoke volumes of his degraded existence, he shuffled over, his task to wipe and clean her foot with a small piece of cloth he carried at all times for such purposes. The chore, mundane and yet deeply humiliating, seemed to strip him further of any dignity he might have clung to in his former life.

Meanwhile, I anticipated Sam's return from her morning jog. She would undoubtedly come back flushed with the exertion, her sneakers damp with sweat. The task of cleaning those sneakers would fall to one of the tiny men. I could already envision the scene: Sam nonchalantly peeling off her sweaty socks, handing them to the shrunken man with a casual command to wash and dry them, her indifference to his humiliation adding a layer of degradation to the act.

As I sat there, observing the scene unfold before me, a deep-seated frustration gnawed at my core. The way Grace, Delaney, and even Sam wielded such effortless control over these shrunken men stirred a tumultuous blend of envy and despair within me. Each command they issued was obeyed without hesitation—a seamless, almost poetic exchange of power and submission that captivated and unsettled me simultaneously.

Ever since the shrinking virus emerged, transforming its victims in both stature and societal status, I found myself in a paradoxical state of mind. To the general public, these men were pitied, seen as unfortunate casualties of a bizarre and ruthless twist of fate. Yet, in my eyes, they were the truly fortunate ones. Each day, I found myself despising my own immunity, my body’s relentless resistance to a virus that I secretly longed to contract.

This virus, which stripped men of their size and their rights, seemingly had a will of its own, selecting its hosts at random and relegating them to lives of servitude under the feet of their captors. And here I was, untouched, unchosen—forced to exist at a frustratingly normal stature when all I craved was to be down there, at their feet, serving them as the goddesses they appeared to be in my eyes.

With every task performed under their command, every moment spent at their beck and call, these men experienced a reality I yearned for. I saw them not as victims but as embodiments of my deepest desires, living out a life that should have been mine.

My gaze fixated on the man pinned under Delaney’s feet, his spine curving to accommodate the weight pressing down on his back. His hands, tense and deliberate, balanced her glossy fashion magazine as she nonchalantly flipped through the pages. Every so often, Delaney would shift her toes, a silent command that he reposition himself to better suit her comfort. Watching her use him with such casual authority resonated deep within me, igniting an ache of longing so profound it bordered on agony.

I knew intimately how much Delaney relished in her dominance, her disdain for me an open secret that tinged every interaction with a palpable tension. There was no doubt in my mind that she would revel in having me under her soles, suffering as part of her daily comforts. The thought of being so intimately at her mercy, subject to her whims and caprices, sent a thrill of terror and desire coursing through me. I yearned not just to serve, but to be acknowledged by her in such a personal and demeaning manner.

The shrunken men were tasked with all manners of servitude that revolved around the women’s feet—massaging them after a long, tiring day, serving as a literal pedestal for their soles during moments of relaxation, or even being used to clean their shoes. Such tasks, demeaning to any outsider, represented a pure, distilled form of service that drew me inexorably. Their existence was stripped down to the essentials of subservience: to obey and to serve without question or hesitation.

As Delaney shifted her position again, causing the little man under her soles to wince slightly, I felt a surge of envy that bordered on pain. The room seemed to close in around me, each laugh and casual command to the shrunken men a sharp jab to my conscience. I couldn't bear the sideline spectating any longer; the need to change my reality was overwhelming.

I stood abruptly, my chair scraping against the hardwood floor more loudly than I intended. Delaney didn’t even glance up from her magazine. Grace was too absorbed in her own amusements to notice my departure. As I walked out of the living room, my heart pounded with a cocktail of dread and excitement, propelling me towards the fate I had engineered in secrecy.

My strides were swift and filled with a desperate energy as I headed to the basement, the sanctuary where I had engineered the most extraordinary device. This small, unassuming gadget appeared simple, even harmless, but harbored a revolutionary capability. It had the power to counteract the shrinking virus, to restore any man reduced by this random fate to his full stature and rights. And yet, with this tremendous potential at my fingertips, I was choosing a vastly different path.

As I gripped the stair rail and descended into the cool embrace of the basement, the contrast between the vibrant dominance and submission playing out upstairs and the quiet, purposeful solitude of my workshop was stark. There, nestled among scattered blueprints and various tools, lay the remote. The device was a paradox in my hands—created to free, yet about to be used to bind myself eternally to servitude.

The remote was heavy with consequence and possibility, heavier than during all those nights I’d spent perfecting its design. To the world, this device could symbolize liberation, an end to involuntary servitude. But to me, it represented the ultimate submission, the key to unlocking the life I craved beneath the feet of powerful, beautiful women. In my eyes, these shrunken men weren't captives; they were the envy of every man who desired the ultimate surrender to such magnificent giants.

Why would any man wish to escape from being utterly at the mercy of such divine creatures? The thought was unfathomable. These men, in my envious eyes, held a place of honor that far outstripped the ordinary freedoms they had lost. And now, I was about to willingly trade everything I had achieved, everything I was, to join their ranks.

Clutching the remote in my hand, I hesitated, my mind suddenly spiraling back to a moment six months ago that had ignited my obsession with creating this device. The memory was vivid, almost painfully so, etched deeply into the fibers of my being.

I reclined casually on the living room sofa, feigning interest in a bland television show that played in the background. However, my focus was entirely elsewhere, captivated not by the screen but by the scene unfolding at Delaney's feet. The air was thick with the heat of a blistering summer day, a stark contrast to the cool interior of our house. Delaney had just returned from her routine run, her complexion flushed from exertion, beads of sweat glistening on her skin as if she were coated in a fine, shimmering mist.

At her feet, a shrunken man was engrossed in his task, his tiny hands vigorously massaging the vast landscape of Delaney's sweaty soles. Each of her feet dwarfed him in size, making his efforts seem both Herculean and deeply intimate. The sight of his diligent servitude, set against the backdrop of her relaxed posture as she stretched out on her chair, was a vivid display of their stark disparity in power.

As I watched, a wave of envy washed over me. It was more than mere jealousy; it was a profound longing to be in his place. To be that close to Delaney, to feel the weight of her authority directly, to be of such crucial, albeit subservient, importance to her comfort—these were desires that stirred quietly in the depths of my soul, yearning for the kind of connection that was as demeaning as it was deeply coveted.

Delaney's laughter broke through the drone of the TV, sharp and laced with a cruelty that made my skin crawl. She flicked her gaze towards me, a smirk playing on her lips. "You know, Chase, it's a fucking tragedy you're immune to the virus," she said, her voice dripping with a mocking sweetness. "Out of all the pathetic men I know, you'd definitely be my number one choice to have writhing under my feet."

Her laughter rang out again, cold and mirthless, as she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with a gleam of wicked intent. "Seriously, I pray every night they fucked up those tests. Imagine, Chase, you being my little bitch right here at my feet," she teased, her voice thick with venom as she gestured nonchalantly to the floor beside her well-worn running shoes.

With a cruel grin, Delaney reached down beside her chair, pulling out something small and shiny. It was a tiny collar, and there it was—my name etched into it in a delicate, taunting script. She held it up between her slender fingers, letting it catch the light, her eyes locked on mine, full of sadistic glee. "See this, Chase? I’ve had this little gem ready for ages. Just in case. To claim you, officially, if that fucking day ever comes. A girl can dream, can't she?" Her voice was biting, each word a tantalizing promise of humiliation and control.

Her words hit like a slap, every syllable soaked in the confident, cruel assurance of a woman who relished the thought of seeing me reduced and powerless. Delaney was a true sadistic queen, her words not just spoken but wielded, each one a declaration of her desires and my darkest, most secret fantasies.

Snapped back to the present, my fingers wrapped tightly around the remote. Delaney's mocking challenge had haunted me, pushing me to create something that could transform her taunts into reality. The device in my hand wasn't just a tool; it was the answer to a question posed half in jest, half in hopeful cruelty.

With trembling fingers, I adjusted the settings on the remote, my heart racing with a mix of dread and excitement. The digital display flickered as I dialed in the specifics—six inches, with a ten-minute delay. I needed those minutes to prepare, to position myself perfectly in front of Delaney. The thought of shrinking right before her eyes, witnessing her transformation from my peer to my goddess, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Once the settings were confirmed, I pressed the button to activate the timer. The remote hummed softly in my hand, a quiet harbinger of the monumental change to come. Clutching it tightly one last time, I felt a pang of uncertainty—was I truly ready to relinquish all control, to become as diminutive in stature as I was in my fantasies?

Shaking off the hesitation, I hurried to conceal the remote, knowing its importance if I ever dared to reverse what I was about to do. I chose an old, dusty shelf in the back of the basement, a place cluttered with unused gadgets and old books—a place no one else would think to look. Carefully, I slid the remote into a gap behind a stack of old mechanical parts, masking it from view. The likelihood of needing it seemed distant, overshadowed by my overwhelming desire to fulfill my deepest yearning.

With the remote safely hidden, I made my way back upstairs, the seconds ticking down in my mind like a loud, echoing drum. Each step felt heavier, each breath more laden with anticipation. I entered the living room just as Delaney was laughing at something on her phone, completely unaware of the life-altering spectacle she was about to witness.

Excited that Grace and the other slaves were occupied elsewhere, I seized the opportunity to have Delaney all to myself. I quietly moved to the sofa, taking a seat right next to where she lounged, deeply engrossed in her phone. As I sat there, my heart pounded with a mix of nerves and anticipation, the fabric of the sofa felt like a vast terrain next to her imposing figure.

Her dark hair cascaded perfectly around her face, eyes lit with the soft glow of her screen, completely unaware of the spectacle she was about to witness. I shifted slightly, trying to calm my racing heart, as I watched the seconds tick by on my watch. The timer was nearing its final countdown, and I felt a thrilling rush of fear and excitement knowing that soon, everything would change.

As the seconds dwindled to mere moments, I cleared my throat, a nervous energy propelling my voice. "Delaney," I called out hesitantly, needing to capture her attention before the moment arrived. Her head turned sharply toward me, her expression shifting from amused curiosity to annoyance at being disturbed.

"Chase? What is it now?" she asked, her voice tinged with impatience.

Just as Delaney's eyes met mine, a sharp beep from my watch signaled that the timer had hit zero. Suddenly, the room began to shift dramatically around me. The couch beneath me seemed to grow, turning into an expansive landscape, and Delaney's figure, already imposing, surged upwards monumentally.

At first, irritation flashed across Delaney's face, but as she watched me rapidly diminish in size, her expression transformed from surprise to a sadistic delight. Her eyes, previously filled with casual mischief, now sparkled with the thrill of an unexpected power shift.

"What the fuck is happening, Delaney? Help me!" I cried out in mock horror, feigning panic as I shrank further, my voice becoming higher and thinner with each passing second.

Delaney leaned forward, her face twisting into a grin of cruel pleasure as she registered what was occurring. "No fucking way," she gasped, her voice a mix of shock and glee. "This is literally a dream come true!" Her laughter filled the room, rich and unapologetic.

As I continued to shrink, her towering form became everything my world encapsulated. She was no longer just the domineering roommate I had lived with; she was transforming into a deity, an omnipotent goddess before whom I was utterly powerless. The reality of my vulnerability under her gaze sent chills through my rapidly diminishing body.

"Look at you, Chase! You're actually fucking shrinking!" Delaney exclaimed, her voice dripping with wicked excitement. "I've always said you'd make a perfect little slave, and now here you are, making my dreams come true without even trying!"

I looked up at her, feigning terror, playing into her fantasy of my utter dismay. "Please, Delaney, I don't know what's happening! Make it stop!" My plea was met with a scoff and a predatory smile.

"Stop? Oh, hell no," Delaney laughed, her voice cruel and resonating with authority. "I’ve been praying for a chance to have you right here at my feet, Chase. Looks like the universe really does listen, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll take real good care of you." Her tone suggested anything but comfort, laden as it was with promises of torment.

Delaney's excitement grew as she reached down and pulled out the tiny collar I had seen her with months ago—the one with my name engraved on it. Her fingers, now appearing massive and imposing, expertly fastened the collar around my neck, tightening it just enough to remind me of my new place in her world. It felt cool and heavy against my skin, a symbol of ownership that sent a shiver down my spine.

Delaney's eyes lit up with a cruel glee as she clasped the tiny collar around my neck, her movements deliberate and taunting. "Well, well, Chase," she sneered, the collar clicking shut—a stark, chilling sound. "Looks like you’re really and truly fucked now, huh?"

She discarded my clothes with a dismissive flick, stripping away the last remnants of my previous identity. Naked and vulnerable, I could feel the weight of her gaze like a physical force, oppressive and demeaning. "This is better than I ever imagined," Delaney mused aloud, a wicked smile curling her lips. "You, my little plaything, right where you belong."

Leaning down, her face hovered inches from mine, her expression one of pure sadistic joy. "Forget your old life, Chase. It's gone. You’re nothing now but a slave for me, Grace, and Sam. Your life as you knew it? Over. You’re ours to use, and trust me, we’ll use you well."

Her laughter was harsh, echoing off the walls, a sound devoid of any warmth. "You always thought you were so above us, didn't you? Well, look at you now, groveling at my feet, completely at my mercy. It's pathetic, really, how tiny and helpless you are."

Delaney straightened up, towering over me, her presence overwhelmingly dominant. "You better get comfortable on the ground, because that’s where you’re going to stay. Forever." She paused, her foot inching closer to where I knelt, her tone dropping to a menacing whisper. "And if you ever thought of escaping or defying us, remember this moment. You’re nothing but our property now, and I’ll make sure you never forget that."

Standing there, dwarfed by Delaney's towering form, I was overwhelmed by the surge of emotions coursing through me. Her words, so cruel and demeaning, should have incited fear or despair, yet they ignited something entirely different within me—an intense thrill that bordered on euphoria. As she reveled in her absolute power over me, I found myself exactly where I had secretly longed to be.

My eyes, now level with her feet, took in the sight of them—larger than life, overwhelming in their new scale. They were more beautiful than I could have ever imagined, their details magnified to an almost surreal intensity. The curves of her arches, the softness of her skin, even the slight sheen of sweat from her earlier activities—it was all unbearably enticing. The sheer size of her feet, now capable of enveloping me completely, filled me with a mix of awe and desire.

As I gazed at her massive feet, a rush of emotions threatened to overwhelm me. I felt tears well up, not out of sadness or regret, but from a profound sense of fulfillment. This was where I belonged, at the feet of this magnificent, cruel goddess, serving her every whim. The reality of my dreams finally manifesting was so intense it was almost spiritual.

Delaney’s smirk deepened as she noticed the tears streaking my face, twisting into a sadistic grin that radiated pure malice. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Chase, are you crying?” she sneered, her voice dripping with mockery. “God, you really are pathetic, aren’t you? What a fucking joke. I mean, sure, I always said you’d make the perfect little slave, but damn, I didn’t think you’d crumble this fast.”

Her laugh was cold and sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. She leaned back into the sofa, her imposing figure casting a shadow over me, her dark eyes gleaming with cruel delight. “This is just too good,” she continued, her tone laced with venom. “You’ve always been such a cocky asshole, thinking you’re better than everyone else. Well, not anymore, Chase. Now, you’re nothing—less than nothing. Just another little bitch at my feet, where you belong.”

She stretched her legs out, one foot sliding toward me, the other propped casually on the coffee table. “Speaking of which,” she said with a malicious smirk, wiggling her toes, “the tiny idiot who massaged my feet this morning did a shit job. They’re still sore as hell. Guess what your first job is, slave? Get your tiny ass over here and make yourself useful.”

Her words, sharp and commanding, left no room for argument. She had already completely assumed ownership of me, treating me as if I were an object created solely for her pleasure and comfort. Her voice turned mocking again, as if she was savoring every ounce of my perceived despair. “Look at you, Chase. Crying like a little bitch. What, you thought you’d get special treatment because we know you? No, sweetie, you’re just another worthless piece of property now. Get used to it, because this is your life.”

Her foot moved closer, the toes curling slightly as if impatient, the scent of sweat from her earlier run hitting me like a wall. “Start massaging, Chase. And if you even think about slacking like that other moron, I’ll make you regret it. You’re mine now. Ours. And you better fucking earn your keep, or you’ll wish you’d never been born.”

Her voice was cruel, every syllable meant to cut, as she leaned back and smiled down at me like I was nothing more than a bug she’d caught under her heel.

Standing before her enormous soles, I couldn't help but marvel at how surreal this moment was. The task Delaney had so cruelly assigned me, dripping with malice and disdain, was something I would have paid a fortune to do willingly. And now, here I was, smaller than her foot, tasked with serving it—not out of her kindness, but her cruelty. It was perfect.

I hesitated for only a second before stepping closer, the massive sole of her foot stretching out like a landscape before me. The ball of her foot, soft yet firm, was covered in a sheen of sweat from her earlier run, glistening under the light. The faint vinegary stench hit me immediately, pungent and overwhelming, but to me, it was intoxicating. I breathed it in deeply, letting it fill my lungs like the most vital oxygen.

“Well?” Delaney barked, her tone biting and impatient. “What the fuck are you waiting for, Chase? Get to work before I decide you’re as useless as the last one.”

Snapped from my reverie, I reached out with both hands, pressing into the plush ball of her foot. It was warm, the skin slightly damp under my fingers. My hands sunk into the soft surface as I began to knead it with all the strength I could muster at my diminished size. My tiny fingers worked in circular motions, digging into the flesh as I tried to ease the tension in her muscles.

A sigh escaped Delaney’s lips, low and drawn out, signaling her satisfaction. “Finally,” she muttered, her voice tinged with relief. “I was starting to think you’d be useless, but maybe you’re not a complete waste of fucking space.”

Her words, though cutting, were a reward in themselves. Encouraged, I moved to the arch of her foot, its smooth, wrinkled surface stretching high above me. I ran my hands along the creases, marveling at how intricate they were up close, each fold and groove a mesmerizing pattern. The arch was slick with sweat, and my palms slid slightly as I worked, but I relished it, savoring the sensation. The vinegary aroma grew stronger here, the source of the scent so potent it almost burned my nostrils. Yet I breathed it in greedily, my body humming with an unexplainable satisfaction.

“Harder,” Delaney snapped, her voice reminding me that this wasn’t a dream—it was my reality now. “Don’t you dare slack off, Chase, or I’ll make you regret it.”

I pressed harder, leaning my full weight into each motion, my hands kneading every inch of her arch with meticulous care. The dampness of her foot coated my skin, slicking my movements, but I didn’t mind. If anything, it added to the experience, a tangible reminder of my position beneath her. My thumbs dug into the base of her arch, applying pressure to where I imagined the tension lingered, and I was rewarded with another sigh from above.

“Finally, someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing,” Delaney muttered, her tone lighter, though still cruel. “Guess you’re good for something after all, Chase. Now don’t stop until I tell you to. You’ve got a lot to prove.”

Her approval, backhanded as it was, sent a strange thrill through me. I focused all my attention on her foot, moving from the arch to the padded heel, which felt tougher yet still warm under my hands. The hours I had spent fantasizing about this moment paled in comparison to the reality of being here, massaging Delaney’s sole, soaking in the dampness and scent as if it were life-sustaining.

I adjusted my position, moving down the vast expanse of her sole to her heel. The skin here was tougher, calloused from years of wear, and it required every ounce of my strength to make any impact. I pressed my palms firmly against the rough surface, pushing harder than I had anywhere else, kneading with deep, circular motions. Each press made my arms strain, but I relished the challenge. Her heel was warm and solid beneath me, a testament to her dominance, even in this simple, mundane detail of her body.

As I worked, I felt the slick residue of her sweat coat my hands, a reminder of her earlier run and the fact that I was now tasked with relieving the very strain it had caused. The smell here was subtler, less sharp than the arch or the ball of her foot, but it still carried that unmistakable tang of her exertion. I leaned into my work, letting the dampness seep into my skin, fully embracing the reality of my task.

Above me, Delaney shifted slightly, her foot pressing down just enough to make me stumble back before catching myself. “Don’t stop, Chase,” she barked, her tone dripping with impatience. “You’ve got a lot of fucking ground to cover, and I’m not feeling generous enough to wait all day.”

I quickly obeyed, moving up from her heel and toward her toes. They loomed above me, wriggling slightly as if to mock my size, each toe easily larger than my head. The scent intensified here, the vinegary tang almost overpowering, but instead of recoiling, I inhaled deeply. It was intoxicating, stronger and sharper than anywhere else on her foot. It hit me like a wave, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how every inch of her carried her dominance, even in something as seemingly insignificant as the smell of her toes.

Starting with her big toe, I placed both hands on either side and began to knead. The plush pad at the tip was softer than I expected, yielding slightly under my touch as I worked my fingers into the flesh. I focused on the creases and folds where the sweat had gathered, each stroke of my hands slick and purposeful. The tangy scent was overwhelming here, filling my senses completely, and I let it wash over me like it was the only air I needed.

I worked each digit individually, using both hands to massage the pads and sliding my fingers into the spaces between. The sweat was thicker here, dampening my hands further, and the stench was at its strongest. It clung to me, enveloping me completely, but instead of feeling disgusted, I found myself enthralled. It was as if every breath I took was a confirmation of my place beneath her, a reminder of the power she held over me.

Delaney sighed again, the sound more content this time, a sign that my efforts were meeting her impossible standards. “Not bad,” she said, her voice softer but still laced with that sharp edge. “For once, you’re actually useful, Chase. Maybe you’re not as much of a waste of space as I thought.”

Her approval, even wrapped in her biting tone, was like fuel for my body. I moved to the next toe, then the next, giving each one the same attention. My hands worked tirelessly, slipping slightly on the damp surface as I massaged every crease and curve. By the time I reached her smallest toe, my arms ached, but I didn’t care. This was everything I had dreamed of, and I wasn’t about to stop until she told me to.

Time lost all meaning as I continued to work on Delaney's feet, my hands tirelessly kneading, pressing, and stroking every inch of her vast soles. The sweat coating her skin seemed endless, soaking my tiny hands and dripping onto my body as I labored beneath her towering presence. My muscles screamed in protest, each motion requiring more effort than the last, but I pushed through, determined not to falter. Her occasional sighs of relief, though sparse, spurred me on like a cruel reward system, keeping me locked in this relentless cycle of servitude.

I worked my way back down her arch for what felt like the hundredth time, digging into the wrinkles and folds with every ounce of strength I could muster. My arms felt like lead, my back ached, and my breath came in shallow gasps. Sweat—both hers and mine—slicked my skin, and the vinegary stench that had once invigorated me now seemed to cling to every pore. Still, I kept going, unwilling to stop, unwilling to disappoint her.

"That's right," Delaney drawled lazily from above, her tone dripping with contempt. "Keep going, slave. You’re not done until every inch of my foot feels like heaven. And don’t think I won’t know if you slack off."

Her words were like a whip, lashing at my pride and pushing me further, even as my body screamed for rest. My hands shook violently as I worked on the ball of her foot again, trying to muster enough strength to press deeply into the plush flesh. My vision blurred with exhaustion, and my legs wobbled beneath me. I could feel my resolve slipping, but I forced myself to keep going, each motion a monumental effort.

Finally, as I moved to her heel once more, my body gave out. My arms refused to lift, and my knees buckled beneath me. I collapsed onto the couch beneath her foot, my chest heaving as I gasped for air.

For a moment, there was only silence, save for my ragged breathing. Then her voice cut through the air, sharp and furious. "Are you fucking kidding me?" she snapped, her foot lifting slightly before slamming back down beside me with an earth-shaking thud. "Did you seriously just collapse like some pathetic little bitch?"

Her face loomed above me, twisted in pure anger, her eyes narrowing as she stared me down. "I let you touch my fucking feet, and this is the thanks I get? You can’t even keep going for more than an hour? What the hell is wrong with you?"

I tried to move, to stand, but my body refused to cooperate. "I... I’m sorry," I stammered, my voice weak and trembling.

"Sorry?" she hissed, her voice venomous. "You’re going to be a hell of a lot sorrier when I’m done with you, Chase. Get the fuck up and finish what you started, or I swear, I’ll make you regret ever shrinking in the first place."

Her foot hovered over me threateningly, her toes curling and uncurling as if deciding whether to crush me outright.

Delaney's eyes burned with fury as I lay there, completely spent, unable to rise. My body refused to cooperate, every muscle screaming in protest, leaving me a trembling, useless heap beneath her. Her towering form seemed to grow even larger in my mind as her anger radiated like a suffocating force.

"Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me," she snarled, her lips curling into a cruel sneer. "I knew you were pathetic, Chase, but this? This is next-level useless." Her foot hovered menacingly over my prone body, the damp, wrinkled sole casting a dark shadow over me.

"Get. The fuck. Up," she commanded, her voice dripping with venom. When I didn’t move—couldn’t move—her patience snapped.

Her foot came down hard, slamming into my chest with the force of a freight train. Pain exploded through me as I felt my ribs creak under the pressure, her sole dwarfing my entire torso. I gasped, struggling for air as her weight crushed me into the couch. "I said, get your pathetic ass up!" she barked, lifting her foot only to slam it down again with even more force.

The impact rattled through my tiny frame, the sheer size and power of her foot reducing me to little more than a rag doll beneath her. My vision blurred with tears as agony shot through every nerve. I felt the warm, sticky sensation of blood oozing from somewhere—my mouth, my nose, maybe both. A crimson streak smeared across the bottom of her massive sole as she lifted it, and the sight filled me with both terror and humiliation.

"Look at this," Delaney hissed, noticing the streak of blood on her foot. "You’re bleeding all over me, you tiny piece of shit. Do you have any idea how fucking disgusting that is? Clean it up when I’m done stomping your ass into the ground!"

Her foot came down again, this time targeting my legs. The pain was excruciating, sharp and searing as if my bones were being ground into dust. I screamed, my voice hoarse and broken, but Delaney only laughed, her tone devoid of any sympathy. "Oh, what’s the matter, Chase? Does it hurt? Good. Maybe this will teach you not to be such a useless little worm."

She stomped again, and again, each blow relentless, calculated to inflict maximum pain. My body writhed beneath her, blood smearing across her sole and the couch as she continued her onslaught. Every impact sent shockwaves of agony through me, my tiny frame no match for the sheer force of her foot.

"I told you," she growled, punctuating her words with another stomp, "I’ll do this all fucking day if I have to. You’re mine now, Chase, and you don’t get to tap out whenever you feel like it. You’re not a person anymore—you’re my property. And I don’t tolerate broken toys."

My vision swam, black spots dancing at the edges as the pain became almost unbearable. Her massive foot slammed into me again, forcing the air from my lungs in a wheezing gasp. I could feel every contour of her sole against my battered body, the sticky warmth of my own blood mingling with the sweat that still coated her skin.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of stomping, Delaney paused. Not out of mercy or concern, but because even she seemed to need a break. She let out an irritated sigh, flexing her toes as she shifted her weight off me. Her towering figure loomed above as I lay crumpled and trembling on the couch, my broken body barely able to move.

Her foot hovered in the air for a moment, and I stared up at it, noticing the streaks of red—my blood—dripping from the creases in her sole. The sight was grotesque, a visceral reminder of what she had done to me. My chest heaved with shallow breaths, each one laced with agony, as I realized for the first time that this wasn’t the fantasy I had envisioned. The pang of regret hit me like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t playful domination or the intoxicating thrill of submission I’d dreamed about—this was pure, relentless suffering.

Delaney finally leaned down, her hand reaching for me. Her fingers, still delicate despite their enormous size, clamped around my battered body with zero care for my injuries. The sharp jolt of pain as she lifted me made me cry out, but she didn’t flinch or soften her grip.

“Shut the fuck up,” she snapped, her voice cold and impatient. “I don’t give a shit how much pain you’re in. You don’t get a fucking break, Chase. You’re mine now, and that means you work when I say, how I say.”

Her cruel words sent another wave of regret washing over me, but I couldn’t even muster the strength to respond. My head lolled to the side as she carried me effortlessly across the room, her every step jarring my broken body.

We stopped at the entryway, and my stomach dropped as she reached down and grabbed one of her black flats. I recognized it immediately—one of the well-worn pairs she practically lived in. The insole was stained from years of sweat and wear, the imprint of her foot visible like a map of her dominance. The faint, musky smell wafted up, a mixture of leather and stale sweat, hitting me like a wall.

Delaney smirked as she dropped me unceremoniously into the flat, my tiny form landing awkwardly on the damp, grimy insole. The texture was rough and uneven beneath me, a stark contrast to the imagined softness of her feet that had once consumed my thoughts. My battered body sank into the indent of her heel, my face pressed against the rank surface.

She leaned down, her face hovering above the shoe, her smirk curling into something even more sadistic. “Here’s the deal, little bitch,” she said, her tone dripping with malice. “You’re going to lick this insole spotless. Every inch of it. And when you’re done being a pathetic little sack of shit, maybe I’ll let you out. Or maybe I won’t. Guess it depends on my mood.”

Her words were a knife twisting in my gut, but she wasn’t done. “This flat is where you belong now, Chase. Where you’ve always belonged. I’ve been wearing these every day for years. And now? They’re yours to clean. So, get to it—or don’t. I honestly don’t give a fuck. Either way, you’re not getting out of this.”

She straightened up, letting out a satisfied chuckle as she slipped her foot halfway into the matching flat. Her looming figure turned away, her steps fading as she walked off, leaving me alone in the suffocating darkness of her shoe. The insole beneath me reeked of stale sweat and years of use, the smell so overpowering I gagged.