After five minutes of casual sauntering around the store, Dylan was just above August’s knee in her stocking. Her musculature was thinner here, and meant he could slide downward even faster. All the way down, his crotch was stroked along the smooth, warm surface of August’s leg. It stung at first, but once Dylan learned to arch his spine, the sensation was limited to a mellow caress of his member on the sleek, silky limb. Were the circumstances wildly different, and Dylan was engaging in rough foreplay with one of the girls in his dorm, he would have been riled right up by this kind of contact.

            As it happened, though, he was only begrudgingly hard. His cock was betraying him, and not just on principle, but also betraying his body to August. From the under-the-breath snickers he heard whenever his member was flopped to the side by the blonde’s thigh, he knew she was onto him from the moment his dick touched her body. A couple times, her finger even ventured to press against his back and encourage his puny rod to massage the heavenly leg upon which it was marooned.

            At one point, Dylan was awkwardly cresting under August’s knee, at the complete mercy of her slippery nylon and gravity. His thoughts shifted inevitably from the dangers of slipping to the much more real threat of being squeezed at the union point of the woman’s calf and lower thigh. What if she had to sit down? Would he even survive? Mere injury would be wishful thinking. If he was caught at just the right angle, his body might snap like a feeble wishbone between the two colliding forces of August’s upper and lower leg.

            As if reading his paranoia, August marched to the back of the store again and drew near to her stool. Feeling more and more helpless, Dylan craned his neck to the side just far enough to notice the shadow of fingers spreading overhead. August was reaching for him. He tensed instinctively, hoping to be fished back out and ideally given a more secure location to rest. Instead, he was nudged hard in the side by the blonde’s arched thumb. She wiggled him back and forth, inching him around the side of her knee, until he was poised directly atop the hardy joint. At least he wouldn’t be squeezed under her thigh. However, there was obviously no intention to remove him from this long, silken prison just yet, as August returned to patrolling the bookshelves for unknowing customers.

            Part of Dylan wanted those behemoth strangers beyond to hear his screams, if only so he could warn them. Read the back of the cover before you buy or rent, he wanted to shout. They really fuck you with the late fee. Unfortunately, he was far too fearful of accidentally plunging the rest of the way down to attempt turning his body around to face the world and cry. Plus, he didn’t think he could stand the humiliation of being noticed and feeling a pair of questioning, dinner plate-sized eyes studying the inch-tall naked man, his junk tangled in nylon, gently crucified on a woman’s leg.

            Eventually Dylan began the second stint of his slow journey down August’s leg as she stalked around the store. Against his will, he’d since stiffened to full mast, and both wished for a release and an immediate separation from these bizarre circumstances. And while the low-rounded hill of her calf muscle brought a fresh sense of anxiety over sliding quickly to ankle-breaking doom, the shrunken college student became aware of an equally pressing matter.

            The melon soap and lotion flavors were only a ghostly memory now, at this low height on August’s person. Something sourer, ticklishly odorous, and distinctly human was creeping in the corners and making Dylan slow his breaths. A little whiff of BO and sweat, rising from below. Her nylons, obviously having survived their fair share of double shifts at the bookstore, not only weathered the first glazy signs of perspiration from today, but also the microscopic remains of past sweats, etched within the very stitching. It was something a normal-sized person would never even pick up on, but which was currently becoming a source of ire for an inch-tall one.

            Dylon coughed as the steadily increasing aroma itself seemed to drag him down, not gravity. Down the slope of her calf behind the black stripe of her stocking, and nearing the top of her ankle. The dark material was thicker, and lightly damp in small patches against Dylan’s bare back. As if to discourage his protesting, August’s pinky finger reached down to prod at his waist, then stroked her fingernail coquettishly along the tiny shape of his head and shoulders. The pad of her finger wedged into his back and pushed him hard enough into her calf muscle to nearly numb his dick. Though he couldn’t look to confirm, he burned with the distinct sense of her deep blue eyes gazing unblinkingly upon him as he descended toward her clog. Another lilting giggle confirmed this.

            After another hour on her feet, August elected to take up her post seated behind the counter again. This at first comforted the boy in her stocking, until he realized her skin was now just slick enough with thin frosting of sweet summer sweat that she didn’t even have to be walking for him to slide. The lubricant of her perspiring beneath the nylon was enough.

            Once again, as he rolled over the bumpier vertical terrain of August’s ankle, Dylan was made to fear briefly for his actual life rather than merely the degree of grievous injury he might incur. Supposing he was allowed to keep sliding, and got his legs wedged under the bulbous mass of the woman’s heel, she could liquefy his entire lower body simply by shifting the weight onto the back of her foot. She wouldn’t even have to walk on him to do it; as was now clear, August was prone to crossing her leg over the other and bobbing her clog merrily from her dangling foot, letting her nyloned sole slap again and again on the damp leather.

            However, in a reminder that August was fully aware of his being at all times even when she chose not to acknowledge him, the woman’s fingers pinched him through the stocking wall. She guided the cringing naked bulge that was Dylan away from the car-compressor that was her stockinged heel, and instead shepherded the boy toward the side of her foot. The instep.

            Here, August’s skin was especially damp, almost rubbery, and noticeably more humid than her leg. Her pores flowed with miniscule beads of sweat, still nothing which would distress any customers, but which made the nylon on Dylan’s back swampy. Each time she bounced the clog from the end of her foot, the leather dragged and squished along the gridded latticework of her nylon, and a “fresh” puff of pungent air was released. It rose like smoke, first collected within the pocket of the hanging shoe under August’s sole, and flowing out into the open air right over Dylan, forcing him to absorb the brunt of the funk if he wanted to breathe at all.