For Dylan, this meant a rollicking Viking ship-style ride within the warm confines of Larissa’s shoe, with her burly toes piling him to the foamy ground. On each bump past the floor, he was hugged tighter between the shoe’s wall and the burgeoning, lollipop toes of his giant tormentor.
With some shuddering horror, he felt his dick, erect and aching for release, wedged in the tender valley of Larissa’s toes. She seemed to make note of it, too, because there was special effort made on the redhead’s part to squeeze in quick pulses, balling Dylan so fervently that he started to think his body just might turn to clay in her grip. Sadly, his dick seemed to have disgustingly different ideas, despite the soreness, lack of oxygen, and thrashing of pillowy toes, Dylan was pretty sure he’d cum if she kept up like this. God knew he’d been pent up after so much tortuous teasing today.
From somewhere in the ether, the voices of giants carried to Dylan’s ears. Though muffled, he could distinguish the words in his haze of sweat-drunkenness and yearning for freedom.
“Wow, I think this guy’s about to burst like a little horndog, August,” Larissa laughed. “I hope when I do this to Sam, he lasts a lot longer. I need it to be the most embarrassing jacking Sam’s ever had. He used to hate my feet, you know. So the message has gotta stick.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. You can get him to last plenty long, so long as you’re careful,” August answered. Her voice was louder now, and her footsteps rumbled outside. “This one’s just that weak because I was doing the same thing to him all day long. Nice and slow is the ticket. That’s how you get a message across.”
“Should I let him?” Larissa asked.
“Oh, I don’t see why not. I don’t want him too depressed, seeing as I’d like to keep him around now. And he’s not a bad little shoe cushion, I’ll give you that much. It’s about having some carrot and stick action, you know?”
“Yeah, I do. Okay, hold on. I’ll give him a carrot.”
Larissa did just that. In the stuffy darkness of her brown leather clog, she planted her foot on the ground and pinned Dylan to the wall with her digits. A death grip of her blushing toes kept the boy’s dick in a pleasurable vice. He was practically suspended solely by his crotch, if he hadn’t managed to pinch his arms around the redhead’s nearest toe. All Larissa had to do was glide her toes together a few more times, his cock completely enclosed by the squishy walls of her digits, and then she felt Dylan shudder under her foot.
“Done!” she announced, and August couldn’t help but laugh again. Larissa tugged her foot out of the clog and worked the nylon down her leg. Her gaze lingered on the open page of the textbook, committing its information to memory, as she plucked an upside down and physically spent Dylan out of her stocking. “Thanks so much for getting this back for me. I’m looking forward to learning even more things.”
“It’s my pleasure,” August said. She reached out and accepted her shrunken naked slave into her palm. “That’s what we’re all about here at the Little Delights Bookstore. Letting the literature enrich new minds with its information.”
“You can say that again,” Larissa said. The redhead bent over and peered at Dylan in August’s hand, then winked at him. “Thanks for letting me practice on you, little guy. I’d say I’ll see you in class on Monday but, uh… that’s probably not likely. So maybe I’ll just see you around here instead, whenever August feels like taking off her shoes and giving you a break.”
The women shared a booming round of pronounced mirth. Dylan could only curl into himself in the center of the blonde’s warm palm, trapped in a mind-fraying middle ground of bitter sexual satisfaction and emptiness at his upcoming new life. He cursed the day he ever set foot in this damn place with the intention of finding the perfect research tool to win him an A+. It seemed the only thing he was going to be “winning” anytime soon was a victorious, shit-eating grin from his towering blonde keeper, who turned out to be much more of a “Type A” personality than her shy shell ever let on.
Even in the afterglow of his climax, Dylan reflected with intense desire on what might have been if he’d gotten that book back in seven days sooner. He’d never have insulted August, never have shrunken, and more pointedly, he wouldn’t currently be lying along the black stripe of her soon-to-be-occupied soggy nylon stocking. It seemed possible he’d be haunted by what-ifs for the rest of his strange, miniature, carrot-stick life with Ms. August Turner.
Reality set firmly back in, as August’s slender foot snaked its way down into the shimmering tunnel. Dylan watched it bearing toward him with grim indifference and a hint of stirring between his legs for round two. The pale sole met his body, molded him to its squishy mass, and descended to the waiting black shoe. August’s fingers met the underside of her foot again before entry; her index traced her quivering victim’s frame like a criminal chalk outline, before she pressed one last shushing fingertip over his face and sealed the boy inside her sweat-caked leather clog for their trip home.