“This is him,” August said proudly. “I’ve just been using him as a cushion for the day, though I think I’ll be training him later to actually put some work into his time down there, too.”

            “Do you… I mean, do you think I…” the redhead stammered nervously.

            “You want to take a test run?”

            “Could I? It would be good to test it out before I… you know… use it on my ex.”

            “I don’t see why not,” August said. “I’m afraid I’m not looking to lend this one out overnight, but you’re welcome to use him now while I close up shop, if you’d like to look over the book.”

            “Oh, that’s perfect!” the girl said, and clapped her hands. She hugged a large, brown shape against her chest, which Dylan surmised was the book. “Thanks, August.”

            “Of course, Larissa.”

            Larissa? Dylan didn’t hear a last name, but between those flaming locks and the girlish tone, he knew without a doubt it was the same Larissa from his chemistry class. More than that coincidence, though, he was troubled by the volley of perplexing statements thrown between them. What was Larissa practicing for? Why did she seem to know so much about the devious secrets contained in this store? And worse, what did she want a “turn” with him for?

            The stocking turned upside down and Dylan hurtled through the squishy tunnel, its unfurling guided by August’s fingers. He landed in her cool, dry palm, but was quickly overtaken by five outspread fingers winging down from above. The digits were smaller and more delicate than August’s, and before he even saw the flash of red hair, Dylan knew he was in Larissa’s fist. Through the crack between her fingers, he saw a pair of wide pink lips stretch into a selfish grin.

            “Please,” he hissed from out of the plush cage of her hand. “You have to help me. She did this to me, somehow. I don’t know how she got away with it, but I’m-”

            “Hush, little guy,” she responded under her breath, cutting him off. With her free hand, Larissa pulled out a chair from one of the study tables and flipped open the cover of the alchemy book.

            “My name is Dylan, we’re in the-”

            “Yes, I know. We have chemistry together.”

            “Please…”

            Her green eyes darted to a wall across the room, where August was now re-shelving scattered texts.         She winked at Dylan, then pressed her mouth against the opening in her fist, blotting out the light and filling the space with her warm, cinnamon breath.

            “Maybe this’ll teach you to think about others before yourself a little bit, huh?” Larissa whispered. “That’s part of the reason I’m about to practice playing with you. The truth is, though, that I’ve been waiting for this book so I can do to my ex what August did to you today. So it’s really kinda convenient, too, because if I’m going to do a good job of hurting Sam as much as he hurt me, then I’m going to need some practice. On you. Sorry bout ya, little guy.”

            Briefly, Dylan was bewildered by the apparent idea that the book itself contained some secret which allowed for his reality-bending shrinkage. However, his attention refocused when he was thrown back against Larissa’s palm on the trip toward the carpet. Her fist reopened an inch from the floor, beside the discarded pair of her shoes, and let him fall to the ground. She had clogs as well, though not as high-sloped as August’s, and colored a glossier brown. The redhead’s bare feet were already waiting, soles flat to the carpet, and her jet black-painted toenails dulling the glint of light like black holes in space.

            Dylan stood blearily up. It felt like a week since he was allowed to touch solid ground, without being burdened by the megaton weight of a giant bare foot sweating him to oblivion. Staring ahead at Larissa’s feet, though, and watching her make ‘fists’ with her toes, Dylan had a feeling that sensation of freedom would be short lived. Only for a second, he considered bolting in the other direction and hoping for the miracle of a crack in the wall for him to hide, until he realized he was entirely too exhausted to even think of sprinting.

            Larissa didn’t leave him long to ponder his liberty. Her left foot arched from the ground, black-painted toes writhing, and lunged toward him. That pink sole and its wrinkles flashed through the various hues of flushed skin as she loomed. Throwing out his tiny arms did little good for Dylan; he was snatched lengthwise along two of the redhead’s stubby toe tips, and squeezed into the curled shafts of her digits. From there, he was laid atop the piggies of the opposite foot, while the pudgier bottoms of the other smashed him into a pressure sandwich of pale toes.

            This first grab commenced a pattern of catch and release. Larissa’s toes would flick him off the top of her foot, give him an instant to stand up, then come for him again, this time with the other foot. Once again, with her pudgy big toe leading the charge, she grabbed Dylan up, violently hugged him down against the ball of her foot, then formed a makeshift coffin for her inch-tall victim from all ten of her happily wriggling toes. Rinse and repeat.

            For someone who supposedly needed “practice” at this activity, Larissa seemed like a natural. Foolish as it felt, given his own rock-bottom situation, Dylan felt some sympathy for this “Sam,” whoever he was, that was dumb enough to split up with the vengeful little redhead. While the toe capture was uncomfortable and humiliating in equal measure, Dylan supposed this was by design, and decided to count himself lucky he still hadn’t snapped any limbs yet, though his ribs were a bit bruised. In between failed attempts at avoiding her tackling digits, the boy listened carefully to the activity atop the table, where most of Larissa’s actual attention was zeroed.

            “Wow, this is… easier than I thought it would be,” Larissa commented with genuine zeal. Pages turned in rapid succession. “August? Is it really this easy?”

            “Anyone with the talent for it can pull it off without even breaking a sweat,” August announced from across the room. “Getting some good practice over there?”

            “Oh yeah, I’m learning so much,” Larissa answered. On the emphasized syllable, she spread Dylan flat between the fleshy bridges of her toes and ground him along them. The boy yelped, feeling rattled to the bone, not to mention the risky sensation of his member being bumped hard along each squishy crevice separating the redhead’s peachy digits. After so much build-up inside August’s stockings, all it took was a couple runs along Larissa’s velvety toes to put Dylan on the edge.

            This time, she didn’t let go of him. Instead she let her foot hover over the carpet, still with Dylan absorbed into the underside of her grappling toes. From out of the corner of his eye, her shrunken classmate saw the flicker of a nylon hang into view.

            God, no, Dylan thought. I just fucking did this.

            Larissa’s staunchly clenched toes crested through the mouth of her stocking, with Dylan still hopelessly in tow. Her nylon was nearly as sheer as August’s, though with the lightest tan tint, and looser-fitting, though of course this made no difference for Dylan as he was wadded into the tip of Larissa’s backless clog before the rest of her giant foot filled in the space. The young shrinker-in-training let her leg swing back and forth like a pendulum under the chair seat, grazing the floor in between.