The insignificant citizens stood in awe. They fled (though to where, no one could say). They passed out. Some, in true Lovecraftian fashion, went mad. Many found themselves aroused. Many found themselves ashamed. But, with the exception of coma patients, no one in Andropolis could look away from the monstrous, gargantuan, pumps that defied logic, physics, and the boundaries of sanity itself.

Time stood still as the behemoth, arrogant beauty’s shoes towered over their city, over their very lives. All doubt that she now saw them down there in the dust at her feet was erased. Many scholors maintain the last thing we should do is make ourselves known to far superior extraterrestrials, and that thought was going through many of the heads of the more rational dust mites in the city right now.

Blissful anonymity, being dust on the floor of this goddess, may have been preferable. Now that they had Her attention, what would she do with it? And in fact, was she always aware of them? She always had the control. The thought she stumbled upon them seemed more and more absurd, but certainly not the most absurd prospect of their current situation. If she were unaware of them, the collateral damage would be epic, but now that she knew they were down there, her’s to play with…What now?

In answer to their silent question, one of her feet twisted, torturing a few square miles of earth. To her, a subtle motion she could not have noticed, but to them, a world-changing, landscape-forming event. The tiny twist was but the start. Her heel popped out of her pump.

The tiny people, even with skyscrapers blocking their views, saw her heel rise into the sky.

First: They saw the visual of her black stocking-clad heel rise, every inch to her almost a mile to them. They also saw the supple leather of her pump wrinkle in sand-dune sized waves then relax. Her megalithic toes moved under her pump’s front like beautiful demons waiting to unleash on the earth.

Second: The audio took a while to reach them, but then a sonic boom rattled them and their little city. A sucking sound followed as her damp foot pulled out of the leather pump. Then the deafening creak of leather flooded over them.

Thirds: The heat, the air, the smell rushed at them like a marauding spirit, hungry to consume their city. The cool humidity free air was conquered by the air surrounding her foot trapped in her shoe. They smelled expensive leather, perfume, lotion, and the sensual aroma of her sweaty foot itself. And it intensified.

This titanic foot then lifted out of her shoe the rest of the way. It hovered there for a while as her long toes flexed and stretched the stocking’s black, silky fabric. Her toes seemed like long, behemoth monsters with a mind of their own as they wiggled, enjoying the new found freedom. None of them could ever hope to contain these monsters. Only She could, and she did it casually. She caged them in her stocking, the bars of wich were delicate strands wider than many of their streets—not fishnets, but tiny, delicate strands. And to make sure the beasts were subdued even more, she put them in the leather prison with walls thicker than most homes. And she would release these toes, like the gods of old would release the Kraken, to take their toll on humanity. And she chose to release them now.

With a nimbleness that belied their massive size, her toes sat down right next to a few dozen skyscrapers. Her big toe almost touched the nearest one. An old bank built in the city only a decade ago pitched toward her toe as she let her foot sink into the soft ground. The sparkling glass of the mighty edifice fogged up as the heat from her foot, especially between her toes rushed headlong into the city with a vengeance.

Where as the stiletto heel looked like a giant, fetishized doomsday machine, her foot was soft and curvy. Her foot was big, even on her scale. More so, her foot was lanky, with long toes, narrow sole, relatively speaking, and an incredibly high arch. Her soft, perfect foot looked like it would be kinder to the small city, but the damage was much worse.

If this goddess were a puny 50 feet tall, it may hurt more to be stepped on with the unyielding sole and sword-like heel of her pump. Her foot’s sole would softly envelop you, hurt, crush some bones, but maybe a sturdy person could survive, especially if vital organs slipped between toes or under her arch.

Her massive foot didn’t have the negative space of her pump between sole and heel. Admittedly, the land in this negative space of her pump was wracked by tremors and gale winds, but there were survivors. Now that she took her shoe off, her soft sole more than doubled the surface area she contacted with. The relative soft, yielding quality of her skin made no difference at this scale. Some survivors had brief hope as they looked up at her wrinkly arch thousands of feet above, but it sank slowly to crush then out too as it settled into the soft ground like the earth was wet sand.

The process repeated with her other foot. This time she freed her foot more quickly from her prison, and subsequently the tremors hit harder. She lightly dragged her toes’ tips on the ground by the city, knocking out an industrial park.

Another storm front of hot, foot-odor-laden air rushed in as many of the tiny citizens saw her red toenail polish through her stretching, wiggling hose. Those nails got bigger, it seemed, as she dragged her toes closer.

Right when they got up to the edge of another part of the downtown skyscraper cluster, they rested on the ground, and the remainder of her lanky foot followed. Such a gentle act, but she still caused more earthquakes.

Business people tried to flee the side of the skyscraper closest to her foot, but were unable to move because of the tremors. They witnessed the advancing toenails rip through a mall at about 80 miles per hour. Debris flew; crowds tried to flee but were crushed immediately.

Finally the toes settled. The people on the lower ¾ of the building saw her big toe rest right on the edge of the sprawling parking lot across the highway that stood sill with rush-hour traffic. The area lay in shadow of her black stockings, under the curve of her toe.

Many sighed in relief that the jammed parking lot and highway loop were spared, but as her toes settled, they splayed. And sank into the ground. Without even moving, her toe flattened under her fantastic weight, and stretched the stockings as they slowly rolled over the parking lot…then the highway…

Closer.

As her stockings stretched, the holes in the tiny weave became wide enough to engulf cars and people. Most were outright smashed under the cable-like strands or hundreds of tons of toe flesh. Some, however, sucked up into the holes between her stocking strands and miraculously found themselves spared, if not partially crushed, in her toe prints that loomed overhead like caverns. More still sucked up between her toes, through her stockings in the furnace-like heat of that negative space that towered over them some thousands of feet. Hundreds of survivors in various states of being crushed along with many dozens of vehicles stuck to her toes like dust, or rested right on the inside of her stockings between her toes. The light barely got in. Many passed out from the heat. Her smell was all around them, dominating them, ruling them.

Closer.

She picked up even more dust mote people in her stockings, sticking them to her flesh in a layer of sweat, dozens of feet thick in places. Some drowned in the small pools of sweat stuck in her toe prints. Over a hundred between her toes looked up as they heard a sound like an ocean crashing. The light shimmered and bent 2500 feet up as they saw a drop of sweat bead up in the crevice of her toe. It hung there for a minute, growing, quivering. The sweltering heat that had already claimed some to heatstroke made the sweat drop almost look refreshing. Then it started crashing toward the tiny people as they clung to the wet stocking between her toes. The surface started pristine and spherical, but as it gained momentum, it ripped, and white caps distorted the blob. It fell quickly, but slow motion. So hard to gain perspective. It splashed down on dozens of survivors farther back in the toe prison. 180 feet of toe sweat then galloped and rolled toward the survivors. They attempted to flee on the sticky, strands of the ropes of her stocking as even more peole were being pushed up through thte strands. The death toll in her stocking numbered in the hundreds under the drop of sweat. Some crushed, some torn asuner, some drowned. All humiliated sacrifices to her.

Closer.

 Her toe’s tip advanced on the skyscraper. Her toes appeared to be shorter than the skyscraper, but as it drew nearer, the reality dawned on them, that they were about half as tall…maybe. The glass fogged as her sultry foot emanated heat. Outside they could hear wrenching of metal, concrete collapsing and screams, both rising in a cacophony, and cutting short immediately in tremendous ripping and crushing noises.

The fog on the windows grew thicker as her toes rested right outside the glass, almost as if she were playing a game with them.