Coughing was the only way Dylan could keep sucking in bitter oxygen and clear his throat of the moist air being vented past the filter of his inch-tall body from within the dank grotto of August’s shoe. In the worst way possible, he’d been correct about one thing in his earlier insults. While August did indeed wear nylons and possess some supernatural power, she was still highly prone to one particular very human vulnerability: summer heat.
Gravity at last released its grasp, and Dylan was stuck on the side of August’s foot for the better part of another hour, immobilized purely by the tensile strength of the stocking. All the while, her clog rode up and down on her foot, propelled by her rocking toes, wafting more foot-flavored mist his way. During his latest fit of hacking, the boy felt another shift in the rounded plain of August’s instep. She shifted her leg over her opposite knee, bringing her foot up into her lap, and light streamed through the wet fabric.
Dylan could see her face out there past the sheer fabric which imprisoned him like a popped gum bubble. August looked cool-tempered and sunny as ever, ignoring the balmy conditions within her shoes. There was a friendly glint in her eyeglasses lens. Her face appeared even bigger than when last he laid eyes on her, though maybe that was just from the emotional perspective he’d gained after more than three hours inside her stocking. Being ignored and worn like an accessory had that kind of effect on a person’s psyche.
“Shhhhh…” she slurred, a finger pressed over her lips like a librarian’s. Still, there was nothing in her eyes or tone to suggest she was at all bothered by her actions today. It made the boy shiver, despite the heat of her foot.
Next, August’s probing fingers jammed Dylan to the deepest point he’d reached yet. Over the curve of her elegant instep, the boy was smeared along her pale foot flesh, down into the shelf of nylon stretched over her sole. Her finger patted him once, just to make sure he’d made it to the place she wanted him, and then darkness swallowed him up. The clog was hugged flush back to August’s foot, and Dylan was entombed inside.
The sloshing squish of the sweat purged from flesh and fabric with each bob was now multiplied tenfold. It seemed to come from all around Dylan, as did the actual moisture. Within the black and airless environment, the sticky puddles of sweat became an unfortunate glue for the boy’s body. Each time August’s foot briefly peeled away from the insole, he was either adhered loosely to the stocking or to the sweltering underside of her slimy ped. The stench was so overpowering that he was starting to consider giving up attempts at breathing at all, yet his lungs choked him into action. Her odor was borne of some unholy combination of earthy grime and poorly aged dairy products. While Dylan had put up with his share of rank smells in his time, usually either in the dorm basement or while going down on a girl after a drunken night out, the briny essence of August’s nyloned foot took the cake. His own skin was turning pruny as he soaked up the liquid like a sponge, stinging with the salt of a veritable pond of sweat, giving a whole new meaning to the term trenchfoot.
Adding infuriating insult to injury, Dylan noticed amongst the darkness that his erection had yet to wilt. In fact, it remained constantly standing, even with the threat of being trampled literally hanging overhead. He bit his tongue before a moan could escape his throat when August’s foot scrunched and his cock was fondled by a giant, buttery sole wrinkle. Dylan had never received a footjob, even from his kinkiest one night stands, but he was pretty sure this was not how you were supposed to do it. Not that his dick seemed to know the difference.
Was this just life now? Being bucked about in the gritty hellhole of a black leather clog, scraped in endless circles amongst the spongy sole of a spurned bookstore clerk? Not to mention the likely permanent case of blue balls he was developing. The thought of permanence hadn’t really occurred to Dylan yet, even after August reiterated the truth that she was claiming him as her full-time shrunken aide for the foreseeable future and beyond. However, now that he’d reached his literal lowest possible point upon the woman’s body, by inhabiting the shoe beneath her foot, he had time to gather his thoughts and come to messy terms with his fate.
Maybe this was all he had to look forward to now. No more family, friends, college, job, or joys of any kind besides guilty sexual urge: just day after day of wondering where August’s mammoth fingers would next deposit him.
Time had slowed to a sludge the longer Dylan was molded into the soppy ceiling of sole. By latent discovery as if waking from a dream, though, he realized the pressure was changing in a much more laborious frequency. August was no longer bobbing her clog against her foot in rapid succession, but instead gradually shifting all of her weight into the ball of her foot before relenting again.
She was walking around, with Dylan still inside her shoe; he decided the only reason he wasn’t a red stain on her leather insole already was because of the depth of August’s arch granting just enough space differential to allow for an inch-tall body. Though he was certainly aware of this risk too. All she’d have to do was step wrong, flatten her ruddy sole just a hair lower against the saturated basin of the clog, and Dylan would tint the sweat swamp crimson with his guts.
Dylan wasn’t sure if he’d fallen asleep out of sheer defense or if he’d merely passed out, but the next time he was aware of his senses at work, dim light streamed over his body. It shocked him after so long in the dark, and he jolted, before realizing he was still entangled in damp nylon, with his whole body kissed into August’s foot above. She’d crossed her leg again over the opposite, and had dangled her shoe so low from the perch of her toes that her servant was actually exposed to the outside.
The comparatively fresh air was a regular oasis for Dylan, who hungrily sucked down a few lungfuls of standard oxygen, even as it was still tainted slightly by the glistening nude stocking and its tangy threads.
No giant bodies walked by for Dylan to scream uselessly at for help. His only company over the next hour was the occasional intrusion of August’s fingernail, scratching a probable itch in the doughy deep of her sole and its supple wrinkles, before retracting her digit again without acknowledging Dylan. Anyone walking by might not even be the wiser that her shoe contained a newly claimed toy slave; they’d just see a woman scratching an itch.
Whenever she reached in to make this adjustment, the nylon tightened at his back and briefly interrupted his chances for clean airflow with a face plant into the mattress pad-like sole above. At the same time, his hard-on was gathered back into the rippling sole creases: a uniquely confusing combination, with his lungs deprived oxygen but his cock teased by the casual arching of August’s sole. After the eleventh time she’d done this, Dylan was seriously doubting she even itched anymore. He didn’t even need to hear her laugh to know. They were reaching the point where all the woman had to do was curl her toes, causing the sweaty crease in her sole to catch his dick, and Dylan would gasp on the brink of hollow climax.
The workday had to be nearly over. While his sense of time was warped by his imprisonment in a space without light, air, or sexual relief, Dylan had to guess it was nearly 6 pm, when the bookstore would close. He didn’t allow himself to wonder whether August might allow him a break afterward, but maybe there would at least be a shift in this awful pattern. However, when August began to pry her foot out of the backless clog, the boy came dangerously close to crossing his fingers.
The wordless good news continued as August next set about rolling her sheer stocking down her thigh, an inch at a time. She surely was about to remove him, if only temporarily. Meanwhile Dylan dangled a few inches from the carpeted floor, still under the netting of the nylon, and painfully erect. So close to the freedom of the ground, and yet so far thanks to the stocking. He heard movement above, but no distant voices. Perhaps the store was closed after all. Whether that was desirable for his wellbeing remained to be seen.
August balled up the last of the nylon tube around her foot. She unstuck Dylan at last from her sole and kept him within the tunnel as it peeled off her toes. The mouth of the stocking hung limply from her thumb, as if she was hanging it to dry, with Dylan coiled at the very tip.
Gathering his bearings, Dylan clumsily clung to the soupy net of the nylon and tried to stand. He peered through the sheer wall. Outside he could see the imposing body of his captor, plus a second person, standing across from August. The girl was shorter; he couldn’t make out the face, but her fiery red hair would’ve been visible even through a colored stocking. Those ginger tresses were familiar, actually. It almost reminded him of one of his classmates…
“So that’s who made me wait so long for the book,” the stranger said brightly. She punctuated the remark with a giggle. Her voice was definitely youthful; she was likely about Dylan’s age. What the hell was so special about this damn gibberish alchemy book that gave it such a waiting list?