Charlie reached over to the desk and switched off the recording device. ‘Thanks for indulging me,’ she smiled sweetly, ‘As you can see I make extensive notes but sometimes you just can’t beat revisiting the moment, you know?’

The man across the room from her nodded his agreement. ‘Oh yeah, absolutely. I do the same sometimes,’ he lied. Sweat prickled across his balding head and dampened his pale blue shirt. A drift of papers, their edges dog eared, separated him from the young woman opposite.

It was unseasonably cold for the time of year though she seemed not to notice. Her shirt was open at the top, revealing a hint of cleavage that was difficult to ignore while remaining perfectly appropriate for the time of year. Her legs were still crossed, the black pencil skirt riding almost high enough to exhibit the tops of her slate grey stockings. Almost.

A black high heel dangled absently from one foot. His eyes stole a glimpse, the tip of his tongue wetting his lips.

‘Does that work for you?’ her question caught him off guard, he hadn’t been listening.

‘Next week, Thursday afternoon?’ she asked, feigning naivety.

He mumbled his agreement and stood, extending his hand to shake on the appointment. ‘Yes, absolutely.’

‘Perfect,’ grinned, her blue eyes twinkling with enthusiasm, ‘see you then.’

--

The wind whipped at her as she crossed the carpark before dropping into the driver’s seat of her silver, company Mercedes. She tossed her bag onto the passenger seat and kicked off her heels. ‘So, did you get any of that?’

She brushed her hair from her eyes and tucked a curly lock of spun gold behind her ear. The chill had caused her cheeks to blush pink, a vibrant contrast to her pale heart shaped face and petite nose. Her lips were a deep maroon, blood on fresh snow.

She hadn’t missed the looks the contact had given her, nor those of the loaders in the warehouse. Charlie smirked; sales may be man’s game but there was a definite advantage to being young, engaging and hot.

Certainly the shrunken man she held in her hand had once agreed. She’d had him in the toe of her shoe for most of the day, same as she had every weekday for the last month. Sometimes he could pick things up but most of the time he spent trying not to slip under her toes. She’d give him a little squeeze when she felt him. Still, it never hurt to ask.

He was grey in both hair and skin, ragged and exhausted, covered in bruises. A million miles away from when she first acquired him. Her fingers curled threateningly around him, her red fingernails as sharp as blades. ‘Hello? I asked you a question.’ She shook him in her first, his inch high body bouncing offer her closed fingers.

Charlie drew him closer to her face, her eyes narrowing as he steadied himself on her opening palm. ‘No boss,’ he answered hoarsely, ‘sorry boss.’

‘Hmm,’ she pouted, ‘I’m not sure if I like boss. Boss sounds like I employ you, like you’re a person. You’re definitely my pet now aren’t you? Or maybe my slave? That sounds a bit much actually. Still, I don’t know if I’m feeling boss. Maybe Mistress would be better? Or Goddess? I like the sound of that.’

She didn’t wait for his answer, he would do as she commanded, and sealed him in her fist again before dropping him into the waiting mouth of one of her converse shoes. The drive home would be almost an hour and the heels were purely for show.

A muffled squeak sent a smile across her sensual lips as her foot entered her shoe, leaving him to scramble in darkness before her toes caught him and forced him into her insole.

Charlie turned the radio on and headed for home.

==

They had met just over five weeks ago during a break at the annual conference. The presentations had been endless; hour after hour of figures, incentives and statistics. The sales force had relished the five minutes of free time; crowding the coffee tables and toilets. Charlie had needed a true break, slipping out of a side door to have a smoke in peace.

She had barely taken a full draw of her cigarette before the door to her secret spot had opened and a man in an expensive grey suit had strode through. His hair was black, swept back and greying at the temples. The brown of his skin betrayed the amount of time spent on his yacht. His eyes were a piercing blue, focussed on his company smart phone.

Charlie panicked, throwing the cigarette into the bushes and wafting away the smoke with her hands.

‘Mr. Sheppard,’ she started, ‘hi, erm, I’m Charlie, err Charlotte. Sorry, Charlotte Bradburton – from the mid-west team.’ She held out her hand politely.

Tim Sheppard, VP of Sales for the District, and her boss’s boss’ boss, looked straight through her. ‘Light.’

Charlie blinked and hesitated a second too long.

The tall man’s brows furrowed. He clicked his fingers, ‘light’. A cigarette had appeared as if from nowhere and now waited in his other hand.

‘Oh,’ realisation dawned upon her, ‘I’m so sorry sir, ah Mr. Sheppard, of course!’ Her attention flew to her bag, searching furiously for her lighter. Each microsecond weighed on her like lead, her cheeks growing warm with embarrassment. Her first time alone with the VP, the dragon of sales, the man who would make or break her career, and she was fumbling like an idiot.

Her fingers clasped around the lighter and she tore it free from the depths of her clutch, thrusting it out triumphantly into empty air. She was alone.

‘Err, hello?’ she looked around, a look of confusion spreading across her cherubic face, ‘Mr. Sheppard?’

She stepped forwards, the toe of her shoe colliding with something soft. She recoiled with a start; looking at the ground at her feet, the grey suit that lay crumpled on the concrete, the smartphone glowing with white light, the discarded cigarette and, beside it, Tim Sheppard.

He was tiny, barely an inch and a half tall, unconscious and very naked.

Charlie couldn’t say if it was a stroke of genius or madness that caused her to pick him up. That same impulse convinced her to drop him into her clutch, to kick his clothes behind the bin, to crush his phone beneath her foot.

She raced inside, flushing pink with nerves, and latched on to the nearest knot of colleagues. Her conversation was a mix of distracted small talk and flirting, enough to make sure at least someone remembered her being with them during the break. Her alibi.

It had taken two hours before the conference had been cancelled. Tim was nowhere to be found and was the keynote speaker. Without him the whole two day meeting fell apart. The decision was made to send the sales force home. Taxis took half to the airport for last minute flights, the rest piled into company cars for a long drive. Tomorrow would be another day for the sales executives while an investigation and contingency was put into place.

Already the rumours had started. Missing people were not uncommon these days.

In the week that followed, Charlie hadn’t needed her alibi. Six years had passed since the epidemic had been officially recognised and such was its reach, missing persons were just too numerous to investigate. For someone as powerful, wealthy and well connected as Tim Sheppard, a show was made of a full search. CCTV was checked at the centre, his clothes and phone found but very little else done. That part of the building was a blind spot and if the worst had happened, odds are he was long deceased.

There was a minute of silence a month after the conference. Charlie had stifled her smirk, knowing the man they mourned was being slowly tortured beneath her toes.

==

She had taken the following day off sick, claiming grief had brought on a sudden bought of illness. In truth she had spent the day at her computer, learning as much as she could about the captive she had sequestered in a shoebox beneath her bed.

Legally he was no longer considered human. The massive scale of the epidemic and the impact it had on its victims meant that representation and rights could no longer be applied. The reasoning was sound; if the afflicted was killed or injured while ‘compromised’ due to the nature of their affliction was it reasonable to portion blame on the perpetrator? In layman’s, if you ended up half an inch tall and got stepped on, how could you blame someone for not checking every footstep?

That she knowingly took him however, technically unlawful detainment, was dicey. There were legal teams who, if they could identify an unwilling or unlawful captive and said captive had the money to pay, would defend and/or take legal action on behalf of the captive. Still the odds of that were slim to none.

Essentially she had gotten away with kidnapping the most effective salesperson of a generation.  It had taken only the slightest leap of her imagination for Charlie to realise how this could change her life forever.

From her perspective Sheppard’s affliction was a stroke of luck. The resources online indicated the victims of the epidemic would find themselves reduced in a seemingly random manner. Her endless clicking had revealed reports of the ‘Shrinkys’ ranging in size from a lofty six inches to utterly microscopic. Neither size would have worked for what Charlie had in mind for her captive.

Sheppard had been roughly woken almost 24 hours after his disappearance at the conference. An explosion of light and sound had assaulted him as he tumbled through the air, the upturned box rolling over him as it was kicked across a cream shag pile carpet.

He landed hard amongst the curling fibres, coughing phlegm as he rolled onto his stomach. He rose to his knees trembling, his head pounding. What was happening?

The ground beneath him rumbled as a voice like honey dripped from the heavens, ‘Wakey wakey little one.’

A knot of fear, revulsion and rage pushed into his throat, threatening to choke him as he looked upon her. To either side of him, a bare foot the size of a bus compressed curling cream carpet fibres as tall as he was. She stood in a position of power above him, a pair of grey sweat pants reaching impossibly upwards to where a pale, bare midriff separated them from a snug black teeshirt. Charlie was wrapped in a pink hooded sweatshirt, her blond curls falling freely across her shoulders. A wicked smile lit her face.

‘How are you feeling Tim? I hope you’re well rested and ready to get started? I’ve got plenty of work lined up for you’

Three days ago Sheppard was unrivalled in any boardroom, his direction influencing a thousand executives across the country. The way this girl sneered at him, some nobody, just because he had been hit by this fucking illness? How dare she? His mind raced, calculating a thousand factors. He had money and influence, his current situation could be overcome, this girl thinks she has the upper hand. He snatched a glance around the room, noting the quality of the furniture and décor, the view outside. This girl could use the money, he could buy her.

‘Hey,’ he began, charm layering his silken voice, ‘Charlotte was it?’

Her movement was a blur. Without pause her foot slashed sideways, slamming into him with punishing force. He was lifted from his feet, his body screaming with agony as he span through the air. He landed much heavily than before, his body creaking as his bones threatened to shatter. Charlie placed her foot back onto the floor and lifted the second. Her captive lay a mere inch from her skin, her shadow falling over him almost instantly.

He looked up, a true cry of fear escaping his lips as the ball of her naked foot descended with horrifying steadiness to settle upon him. His arm, raised in a futile attempt to ward her off, was compressed against him, his ribs screaming as she placed a mere fraction of her weight upon him.

His throat rattled as he gasped for air, drawing in half gasps laced with the scent of her skin. Blood pounded in his ears as the pressure increased, she was going to kill him!

‘Rule number one,’ Charlie raised a finger in admonishment, more for her own enjoyment since her victim’s vision was obscured by her foot, ‘you don’t talk without permission. Got that?’

She waited a split second, again only for show, before adding a little more weight upon the pinned man. A fresh cry of pain snuck out from beneath her. That was good enough.

Charlie stepped off of him, leaving him gasping like a landed fish.

‘Wow, you really should see how pathetic you look.’

Sheppard arched with pain, his bones buzzing as though electricity moved through his chest. This fucking bitch.

A quake shook the ground above him as she moved, her massive form folding with fluid ease. Her knee connected with the floor before him, her huge finger jabbing down towards him like a spear. ‘I said, got it?’ she repeated, her voice icy cold.

He looked up at her, at the accusing digit that was almost twice his height. He trembled with pain and rage, suppressing the fear that had begun to well in his stomach. There was no way this girl was going to beat him. ‘Yes,’ he snarled through gritted teeth.

He flinched as her hand blurred, becoming a fist that slammed down beside him. Again the force removed him from his feet, again he was humiliated. Charlie looked down at him with cold superiority, ‘Yes boss, I think.’

On his knees, his fists clenched, his eyes boring into the floor, he hissed, ‘yes boss.’

==

The next three days had been the worst of his life.

Charlie’s newfound power over him had warped her mind almost immediately. From the beginning her demands had been clear. For the foreseeable future, Sheppard was her pet. Her word was law and disobedience would be punished. To him, her body was a weapon. Huge, fast, impossibly strong; should she be displeased he would feel pain. Her hands, her feet, these she could turn against him to compress and contort his body. She treated him like a plaything, hers to do with as she pleased.

She had been sat on the couch, ankles crossed, when she at last revealed her true intentions. It was Friday morning, she should be at work. This fact was not lost on Sheppard, his budget was paying for her to slack off and ridicule him.

This morning he was a position that had become uncomfortably familiar. On his knees, her barefoot loomed over him. Her lipstick had left a bloody smear across his face. A leftover from the night before, her torments had involved drawing him in and out of her mouth, drowning him in her cloying saliva, crushing him with her lips, threatening to snip off his limbs with her razor sharp teeth.

His own saliva had mixed with the deep red paint and small splashes of it now peppered her skin where he had kissed her warm flesh in deference. It had to stop eventually, he repeated to himself as his hands massaged the deadly sole above him, it had to stop eventually.

No longer naked, she had clothed him in a crude dress made from a thin paper towel. Better suited to his new place as her little bitch, she had said.

Sheppard’s hands were massaging the flesh of his mistress when she addressed him. Her plan, when she revealed it, was asinine.

Delusions of grandeur had convinced her she deserved his job: C. Bradburton, VP of District Sales for one of the world’s largest companies. Her plan was to make him her captive mentor, to have him advise her on her sales and create the perfect pitch which, she believed, would allow her to first mimic his success at sales and then mimic his rise to power. The youngest VP in company history, she demanded nothing less. Then and only then would she consider releasing him. The idea was absurd.

Saying so earned him an agonizing minute compressed between the hard floor and the unyielding foot of a junior sales executive. His part in her plan was non-negotiable.

==

It was amusing that her pet still dared to defy her. She wasn’t even mad, it was his life he was risking each time he denied her. In the first day he had offered her money, no doubt he would do so again now he knew her intention.

Charlie wasn’t stupid though maybe she was a little lazy. She was under no illusion that Tim’s money was useless now, even if he didn’t realise it himself. She had done her research and considered herself a good judge of character, there was no way the second Mrs. Sheppard would part with a cent of her late husband’s money.

That was the best case scenario. The worst, assuming there was a shred of love left for the tiny man that struggled beneath Charlie’s foot, was that she’d report her for kidnap. No doubt there was some lawyer delusional enough to try and get hold of some of the great T. Sheppard’s fortune. No thank you, her way might be slower but to the outside world it would be honest, natural.

His fluttering had grown weak by the time she released him, he rolled away from her foot gasping, always gasping, for air. She repeated her proposal, he agreed.

In her mind this was justified. It was Sheppard who had set the punishing sales plan for the year. A plan that had seen a surge in new revenue for the business but record low levels of sales executives compliant. Those beneath plan, well they didn’t earn as much commission. It was a cold cash grab but what could they do. Sheppard’s word was law.

Charlie chuckled to herself, enjoying the change in her former boss’ circumstances. He was her property now, it was her plan that would decide his fate.

The day was hers to enjoy as she saw fit. She lived far from the office so nobody would notice if she took some personal time. A hamster cage had been set aside for her new pet; complete with a small bed from an old doll’s house, a water dish and a small hunk of bed. Her meeting notes lined the bottom of the tray, his work for the foreseeable.

She tossed him through the hatch without ceremony and locked it behind him. She was going out, an afternoon that would turn into an evening of celebratory drinks with the girls. A fold of paper and a sliver of graphite from a pencil was poked through the bars, tools to allow him to make notes. By Saturday morning she expected cast iron proposals for her entire portfolio. There would be time following her hangover to go through them ahead of Monday. ‘Get to work,’ she commanded, patting the top of his cage, causing it to shake violently. She stepped over his enclosure, the simple action deliberate to remind him how helpless he was.

Alone and trapped, Sheppard began to read.

==

The original plan didn’t last a day.

Charlie staggered through the door, her breath laced with vodka. Her keys dangled from her grasp, her bag hanging lazily from the crook of her arm. Her hair was a mess, her makeup smeared. She tottered forwards unsteadily, her killer heels clicking on the floor. It had been a very good night.

She clicked on the light, illuminating the majority of her three room apartment. Her eyes fell hungrily on the cage, dangerous ideas going through her mind. She could be a nasty and spiteful drunk.

Her brows knitted as through blurry vision she saw the open door, the broken frame of the bed lying where he had left it after prying open the latch.

Her jaw set with rage, he had only just escaped. This she knew not by some forensic expertise but by the tiny running figure that raced towards a nearby air vent.

She dropped her bag, the sound booming through the room. Sheppard felt it hit the earth but didn’t look back. The ground beneath his feet bucked as she stormed towards him, each one of her impossibly high legs closing the gap between them with dizzying speed. He was a second away, so close.

The world before him vanished abruptly. Where once the slim chance of escape presented itself, a towering wall of black leather blocked his path. He had barely time to look up at her, to explain, to force an apology before a wicked kick sent him flying across the room. She didn’t pull the force of her blow, his bones shattering from the impact.

He croaked weakly, his lungs filling with blood, a feeble hand raised to the sky. She was above him, towering on stiletto heels, her luscious body wrapped in a tight black dress. Her face was twisted with anger, devoid of mercy or reason.

‘Fuck the plan,’ she snarled, driving her foot into him.

The feeling of a human body liquidising beneath the ball of her foot would have been indescribable, even if she hadn’t had countless cocktails. His cry lasted only a split second before giving way to the dry sounds of splintering bones, the wet sounds of tearing flesh. She twisted her foot back and forth, extinguishing him as she would a cigarette. A fitting action, she decided, considering their first meeting.

When she stepped away there was barely any trace of him, a featureless smear of blood and viscera on the linoleum. Her lips curled into a sneer, her blue eyes narrow with disgust. Fucking insect.

She spat upon his remains, slamming her foot into them for good measure. With a simple shake she dislodged her shoe and left it upon him, her former boss pushed into the sole like a wad of discarded gum.

Charlie’s head span, her fingers pushing through her hair. She needed to sleep. With one shoe on and one shoe off, she wobbled to her bedroom and collapsed on to the bed.

Tomorrow would be a fresh day.