Through white halls, under the cool heat of florescent ceiling
lights, he ran. His thick glasses shook, while a brown, slicked back
hairdo flopped from his heavy foot falls. Sweat stained a white
button down shirt, although his perspiration was not exclusively due
to exertion.
A middle-aged face
was twisted in anguished anticipation. The man’s physique was
clearly not attuned to consistent physical activity. There was a
slight bulge in his belly that oscillated from his motions.
He finally came to a
stop before bending over. Stainless steel double doors loomed over
him. Above the frame of the doorway lay official text reading “Lift
to Melissa Engel’s office”.
A shaky hand pressed
a button upon a panel right next to the entrance. Immediately, the
heavy doors slid open in automated fashion. He trudged through,
entering a dimly lit elevator. Its control panel displayed only one
other option than the ground level. A thumb toggled the appropriate
button, causing it to glow with a warm yellow luminescence once
pressed.
Immediately, the
doors to the elevator sealed shut. His black business shoes were
pressed into the ground, as momentum forced him down while the lift
ascended.
The man did not
bother to idle. A white napkin was retrieved from his breast pocket,
then dabbed upon his glistening forehead. Nervous eyes veered about,
though there was no one else. Every meter of altitude gained by the
elevator only sent his heart into an even louder cadence.
A ding signified
that his destination had been reached. His pudgy hand adjusted his
own soggy collar, which clung tightly to a rather thick neck. He was
hit by a cool breeze as the steel doors revealed what lay beyond.
He had not entered a
mere room, but a vast atrium. The ceiling, clean, sleek, and lined
with fine, circular light fixtures, could have been at cloud level.
Massive glass panels made up distant walls to his left and to his
right. As the man trudged forward, the surface his shoes trudged upon
was of a rich, dark, glossy wood. It was a platform that clearly lay
a good distance above where the actual base of the room would be.
The surface he found
himself on was not unoccupied. He found himself underneath the shadow
of a massive cylindrical tower, made of metal strung together in a
crossing pattern. Long, thin objects stuck
out from the top. If
he squinted his eyes, he would see that they resembled some form of
gargantuan writing utensils.
This was due to the
fact that they were indeed, gargantuan pens, fit for a titan.
The man peered to
the side again. Great windows allowed a view of a sunny vista
outside. At least, it would have, if someone was not blocking his
view.
This someone towered
over the platform. So much so, that the wooden terrain lay even with
her stark black business skirt. Meanwhile, her torso cast a long
silhouette, clad in a dark gray executive’s jacket, outfitted with
broad, sharply-angled shoulders. A frilly white blouse lay
underneath, each button struggling to contain the substantial curves
of her chest.
A married man, he
dared not to linger his gaze upon her breast for long. However, this
subjected him to a most imposing sight, a deadly, unforgiving glare
of two narrow, ice-blue eyes that could have frozen hell itself
solid.
He became
immediately aware that the ground he tread upon was not still.
Several rhythmic tremors shook his legs, not that his own fragile
nerves were not trying their best to do so first.
Looking ahead of him
allowed him to quickly identify what had shaken the mahogany floor. A
pale hand the size of a small residence, hovered above the glossy
terrain, allowing a single finger to stretch down. The finger, an
imposing structure in of itself of which even the tip was formidable
when compared to the man’s entire being, rose and fell, tapping on
the surface he stood upon.
His gait ceased, and
he stood directly underneath the CEO’s shadow. At once, he found it
difficult to maintain his own balance. It was as if gravity had been
intensified, weighing each of his limbs down. His shoulders bent
while his neck slumped as it attempted to support his thick cranium.
The weight of this woman’s gaze, however, was a sufficient
explanation for such a phenomenon.
A low, cold voice
was uttered from thin lips, “Our orders for the new batch of
supplies were to be sent out this morning. The client has gotten
impatient.”
There was a fresh
new layer of sweat which found its way upon his forehead, yet the man
did not bother to wick it away. “I-I've compiled the submission and
calculated the projections, Miss,” he stammered, attempting to find
some escape from her searing glare, “All we're awaiting is for the
order to be processed to be sent out.”
Melissa folded her
arms, sending her dark, chestnut, shoulder-length hair into a bit of
a wave. “You've already completed the report? I wasn't notified,
why is that?”
The man found a
partition of spittle to swallow after the accusation was made, “I-
I was in a hurry, and I know that our deadline was approa-”
Another pale hand
was held up. Its form almost blocked out the man’s view of his
boss. Melissa’s tone slightly relented, allowing just a bit of
sunshine within her timbre fit for a tundra, “I merely require you
to include me on the notifications. This will allow me to address any
problems more directly. See that you do not forget.”
His head almost
bobbed as he enthusiastically agreed, “Yes ma'am!”
Silence permeated
the room. Melissa’s thin lips remained still. Meanwhile, the
trembling office worker found himself rooted in place, as if several
invisible screws had drilled through his black dress shoes into the
polished wooden surface beneath. In an ill-advised move, his eyes
remained on her own. It was frightening in of itself, as he felt his
mind become a hallowed-out wreck while he fixated upon her fiery-cold
visage, a projection of domineering authority. Sweat poured down his
face, as if he had just exited the gym after an arduous workout.
Finally, the quiet
had been broken, for the man let out a squeal as he toppled over.
Melissa’s pale finger had smashed down a mere foot or two next to
him. While no harm came to him directly, the sheer force dispersed
from the impact zone was enough to land him on his rear.
“Why are you
standing around?” she scolded rhetorically, “I require nothing
further of you. You are dismissed.”
The man’s limbs
flailed as he scrambled to get to his feet. Once he did so, his legs
could not carry him swiftly enough out.
Melissa’s looming
glare followed him out, out through a small door in the wall. It was
the only entrance to her office for those lacking her stature. All
the same, it allowed the normal sized to visit her desk in a most
literal sense.
A ringing klaxon
then took her attention. She witnessed a red blinking light upon her
work phone. With swift grace, her hands gripped the device, pulling
it from its port. The phone itself was cordless, allowing her to
wander from the desk as she communicated with the one on the other
side.
A gruff, yet
feminine voice blared through the speaker, causing Melissa to wince
ever so slightly, “Hey lady, you've got any updates on the stuff?
We're basically loitering out here on the job!”
“You know of the
difficulties in acquiring and securing scaled up supplies for
giantess construction projects.” Melissa responded, her own
inflection almost mechanical in nature, “There is the matter of
volatile costs, transportation...”
“Yeah yeah yeah,
what's happened?” interrupted most baudily the woman on the other
side, “You guys are usually quicker on the draw with this! We've
never had to wait this long before.”
“We are currently
in the middle of a serious backlog,” the ceo explained, without
missing a beat, “I would ask for your patience with us in sorting
out these matters. You will receive an update once we have addressed
your issue.”
The rough woman
merely lamented, “Whatever you say.”
Melissa pulled her
phone away, for she sensed the operator on the other end hung up with
the grace of a bull.
“Ungrateful
brute,” she snarled.
The colossal CEO was
far more delicate in her handling of her device, setting it carefully
back, until it clicked in its own socket.
Her black suit
ruffled as she folded her arms. Eyeing the window to the outside, she
beheld a great urban vista. Roads crisscrossed in an organized grid,
hosting a good amount of traffic at their intersections. Buildings,
short, stout, lean and tall occupied each block. There were of
course, several metal panels over a fraction of the streets, allowing
those of Melissa’s stature to venture where they needed to go with
minimal property damage.
She became aware
that another had entered her office, this time, through the front
entrance. While the woman who had rushed through was comparable to
Melissa, the executive possessed nearly a head and a half advantage
over the panting newcomer.
Her square,
black-edged spectacles slid down her nose, for her head was hung
over. Locks of light brown hair that were not secured by her tight
bun fell over her face. Upon gazing upward, only to make eye-contact
with her superior’s imposing demeanor, big, soft brown eyes widened
and trembled behind their glass guards. A trembling finger pushed the
eye-ware up the bridge of her nose after straightening her posture.
“I'm sorry Miss! I
can't do it! I'm a failure at my job!” she declared. Melissa could
observe tears rolling out of her eyes as she began to dissolve into
hysterics.
Melissa’s consul
was nothing, if not direct, “I don't want sob stories, I want
specifics.”
Between great sniffs
of her nose, the babbling secretary explained, “Our computer, the
pedal, it just won't ... I must have broke it ... we'll never get out
the reports because of me! I'm...”
A torrent of tears
rushed out from her eyes, wetting her beige, button-up blouse. Even
her name tag, labeled “Serena”, could not escape the downpour.
Her knee-length pencil-skirt began waving as she wavered. Bending
over, her face was buried into her hands.
“That accursed
machine!” Melissa sneered, appearing indifferent to her secretary’s
sorrows, “I should contact my lawyers, I'll give Colossal Computing
a legendary lawsuit for their troubles!”
Her eyes then
narrowed at the sobbing secretary, witnessing her rather curvaceous
form crumple and ball up.
A sharp yell exited
the CEO, “Dismissed! Get out of here!”
In a voice tainted
by tears, Serena complied, “I'll pack my things an-“
“Vacate this room
now!” Melissa clarified with a near-hiss, “And don't bother
thinking you're fired, I still have use for you.”
Serena immediately
ceased crying. A relieved smile broke over her face, puffing up her
swollen, reddened cheeks. Glass door swung open, but just before she
exited she shouted out, “Thank you ma'am!”
The entrance hissed
shut, leaving Melissa alone. A hand was placed upon her forehead,
allowing her fingers to circle her temples. As she settled upon the
only viable option, the CEO found her eyes waving from the left to
the right, as if checking any other would be observing her in secret.
She thumbed a chrome
button upon her vast desk. Immediately, the rather minuscule doors
leading to her desk were locked.
Her hand then veered
to a black switch next to the button, and flipped it. Immediately,
the glass, allowing her to view to the rest of the workspace began to
dim and grow opaque. Melissa then rose from her rather vast chair,
upholstered most richly with black leather. Her brisk pace brought
her to the window. Pulling on a string allowed blinders to fall.
Twisting a clear plastic pole allowed her to angle the blinds as to
block out all light entering her office.
A sigh exited her
mouth, while her face slumped into an expression of resignation. Her
tall, imposing form had wavered back to the desk, allowing her waist
to rest against the edge.
The accursed phone
that had greeted her with the unpleasantness of the complaining
construction worker lay staring back at her. Thin lips began
trembling as a hand began gliding towards the device. Upon grasping
the speaker in her long digits, Melissa’s opposite hand dialed in
the appropriate phone number.
Heavy breaths exited
her mouth in anticipation as the signal pinged the appropriate
receiver. Two sequences of rings occurred, before she could discern
the sound of a phone being picked up from the other side.
A voice that sent
her heart into a flutter and color into her pale skin nearly sang out
his words from the speaker.
“Hello! Dylan's
tech repair, how may I help you?”
Melissa’s own
speech had notably softened, lacking its icy, sharp edge. One could
even detect a slight texture of honey as she spoke.
“Hello,” she
replied, “This is Dylan speaking?”
The voice on the
other side gained an aspect of playfulness, as the man on the other
side inquired, “And may I ask what our most beautiful customer is
in need of?”
Shades of plush
crimson were painted on her cheeks. A small squeal escaped her. Legs
covered in dark nylon quivered in utter excitement.
Luckily, the
executive was able to compose herself. Shaking her head, allowing her
long mane of chestnut brown hair to wave, she began to explain,
“Dear, our computer's giving us trouble again, the pedal-”
“Say no more
honey!” the voice of Dylan chirped, “I'm on my way!”
“Love you dear!”
Melissa declared with glee.
“You too!”
Once she heard Dylan
terminate his connection, Melissa breathed out a sigh of relief.
Slumping down, she put a hand to her forehead, while setting the
phone back into its socket. After a few deep inhales, each of greater
silence than the last, she found her face set back into its stoic
mask.
...
The office space was
a small amphitheater, at least, to those wandering its halls. Several
large cubes blocked off the area in a grid-like manner. Woman
thundered in between, few in number. Within these boxes, through
several viewing ports, were cubicles of a rather small size. Personal
of appropriate height could be observed within, going about with the
usual hustle of the workday.
Black tiles lined
the floors. Between these normal-sized areas, were several lines of
transparent material. To and from the various cubic partitions, the
comparatively tiny workers raced within. Occasionally, their walkway
would be under the shadow of a shoe belonging to a giantess. Aside
from some new hires and interns, this phenomenon appeared to be
rather mundane to the rest of the workforce.
Within a break area,
there stood two. For them, it was rather cramped, although to an
average man, the room would have been positively enormous. Serena was
hunched over a table, supporting her generous torso with both elbows.
Her eyes were still puffed from sorrows, although her cheeks had
notably resumed their usual rosy color.
This was of course,
hard to observe, for her face had been buried in her hands. Her
distress, however, had clearly lingered, despite her dismissal from
Melissa’s office.
“She's going to be
tired of me, someday!” she lamented, her own voice muffled by her
impeding digits.
“Relax,”
consoled her peer. She was leaning against one of the cabinets with
crossed legs and folded arms. Her manner of dress resembled that of
an executive, sporting a gray blazer over a dark purple shirt that
was cut low enough to spark the imagination. She flipped her black
hair back, in order so that the heavy bangs would stay clear of
almond-shaped amber eyes.
“I've been in the
doghouse with her the most out of anyone in this company,” she
elaborated, her voice marked with a confident drawl, “The lady's
just ice cold. I don't like it, heck, would love it if she'd let in a
pleasant word or two this century. But she ain't gonna fire you. That
machine's a glorified potato anyways! What did you even do to it?”
Serena remained
committed to lingering in an agonized state, “Alexia, I - I can't
keep messing up at this rate.”
The woman named
Alexia huffed, shooting her coworker an intense amber glare, “C'mon
Serena, put your chin up! It may not look it, but she's trying to get
the best out of you.”
The secretary
widened her eyes, before allowing her heard to rise. With a look of
befuddlement, she made eye-contact with Alexia, “H-how do you-”
“Oh I gave icy
Messi a piece of my mind!” the woman bragged, straightening her
posture, “You gotta coax it outta her. With dynamite and a
crowbar.”
A rhythmic clacking
sound made itself known. Both women stood at attention, as if a
military officer were passing through. The imposing form of their
boss flew by, her brisk pace made all the more apparent by the sound
of black stilettos upon the office floor. Once visible within the
break room, however, her momentum came to an abrupt halt.
Tucked under her
shoulder was a rather large binder of documents. The layers of pages
proved innumerable to count. Cold blue eyes rested upon Serena, who
let out a small squeal as a result.
“Serena,”
Melissa began, presenting her the folder, with expectant ceremony,
“Process these for me. I will deal with this problem we have.”
Her gaze dropped to
absolute zero as she veered towards Serena’s coworker.
“Alexia, stop
wasting her time.”
Not another word was
said as Melissa made her exit with the same vigor as before. Once her
back was turned, Alexia made her response, holding up a hand that
kept all fingers down except for one.
Outside, a bird
flipped in the sky.
Eyeing the folder,
Serena nevertheless contemplated, “She was looking rather
distraught after I left.”
Alexia rolled her
eyes, “Oh, probably talking to her husband.”
This elicited a
surprised gasp from the secretary, “She's marr-”
“-Yeah,”
interjected the black-haired woman, “But she goes out of her way
not to even mention him. Hell, I think he's been in this building,
but she keeps her distance.”
After a distant gaze
of consideration, she concluded, “Must be an unhappy marriage.”
Alexia too, had
decided she had to resume her duties. Shooting Serena a rather kind
smile, she headed through the entrance. As she passed over a
transparent passage for the regular sized, a poisonous grin formed
upon her mouth. With a step heavier than the rest, she allowed a dark
brown, high-heeled sandal to slam down upon the walkway. Though all
that passed through were unharmed, many lost their balance. No matter
their work experience within the company, all doubled their pace upon
realizing exactly who it was that had disturbed their transit.
...
Melissa’s hand
turned the handle to a rather large beige-colored door. Significant
effort was required to swing it open, yet the executive managed.
The room she entered
proved far less refined than the main area of the office building.
Instead of reflective black or white tiles lining the floor, what she
stood on was a uniform gray that absorbed the florescent light
shining from above. The ceiling sported several pipes and wires
coursing through, including those leading to the overhanging
fixtures.
Of interest was what
lay in the center of the room. Propped up on a stout desk lay a
bulky, cream-colored box. A black screen was framed by this box’s
light exterior. It appeared to bulge out, if to accommodate the
cathode rays that would illuminate what it needed to show. A keyboard
of a comparable light color was splayed before the screen.
The computer,
however, did not possess a handheld mouse. Instead, occupying the
space below was a simple, foot-sized cushioned pedal. Lying next to
it was a prism-shaped case, tainted a smarmy teal. Several lights,
red and green, blinked upon its front panel.
It was what ran in
between these two structures that drew Melissa’s attention. A
minuscule shape raced across the floor. As she approached, there was
no doubt it was the form of a man. A floppy mop of dirty blonde hair
waved from his motions. He was dressed in a heavy blue jacket and
matching pants. A young, boyish face was gripped in concentration,
while bright green eyes memorized the scene around him.
His activities did
not cease, as he continued to exchange his attentions between the
massive computing box, and the mouse pedal. Melissa did not allow a
word to escape her as she crouched down, feeling her pantyhose
stretch against her knees, and her skirt tighten around her thighs.
Her steady breathing crawled to a lethargic tempo while her gaze
remained captured by the minuscule man.
As he began testing
and inspecting the springs within the pedal, she could not help but
take note of a slight shimmy within his hips. A squeal of delight
escaped her. One of her hands extended, racing towards where he
worked. Her index finger, which proved to be nearly four times his
height, settled upon his head, utterly blanketing it in flesh.
“Whoa!” squeaked
the man, almost falling over.
Melissa’s pale
complexion was rendered a beet red as her finger was quickly
retracted.
“Sorry dear!”
she apologized, “You just look so adorable when you work!”
Dylan faced the
now-blushing CEO, and flashed her a massive smile. A spare hand,
coated with sweat and oil, tussled the back of his head.
His smile vanished
as he began to explain, “I have to admit, I ain't made headway on
this. One of the springs is totally rusted! I'll need a replacement
and you should be good to go!”
Melissa frowned,
“Won't there be some time before the part gets here?”
“Yeah,” Dylan
confirmed, “About a day.”
The executive shook
her head, “I'm sorry honey, I just don't have that time. Surely you
can think of a quick fix before the part comes in.”
Dylan shot the
foot-mouse a resentful glare, “You should probably replace this
piece of junk,” he suggested, motioning towards the accursed
device, “They've gotten a lot better with giantess-scaled computing
in the past couple of years. Considering your company's in the black
now, it shouldn't be too much.”
A finger ran across
Melissa’s lips, as she mused, “It would be nice.”
Her mouth then
formed into a pout while a voice with the sickly stain of honey
playfully lamented, “But then, I wouldn't see you as much.”
Warmth spread within
the comparatively tiny man’s chest, He gave her his widest smile
yet, “Aw gee honey! You're turning me red!”
His grin slowly
faded. Dylan’s lips tightened, making quite apparent the dimples
that marked his cheeks. Brilliant green eyes scrutinized the pedal
before him. In particular, they lingered upon the troubled area
identified earlier. The crucial spring had been removed. Despite its
size, the effort to do so was not so great on Dylan’s part. In some
ways, he had become quite familiar with the workings of Melissa’s
old machine.
A light illuminated
his expression. Slowly, he brought up a hand, supporting his chin.
“Wait, yeah...” he worded almost instinctively.
Melissa watched
Dylan scurry back under the desk. In particular, she payed attention
to his swiftly moving legs as they raced across the floor. A bead of
sweat fell from her forehead, despite the fact the computer room was
kept at a cool operating temperature.
He had soon exited
her viewpoint. Melissa could crouch further down to inspect what he
was up to, yet decided against doing so. She discerned several small
shuffles of tiny moving parts. No doubt, her own husband had a part
to playin this.
Soon, Dylan entered
her view again. Wrapped around his arm was a twine of rather thin
white string with green stripes. To the tiny technician, however, the
string was akin to a substantial rope.
He began working
around the pedal. Frantic hands scurried up its dark surface, sinking
into the padded cushion. He would then disappear, weaving through the
jungle of metal and plastic that gave form and function to the
pedal’s operation. ‘Round and round he traveled, until coming to
rest upon the foam cushion on top of the device.
As Dylan worked,
Melissa saw fit to power up the machine. The black screen flashed
white, before text raced across its vantage. An idle stiletto tapped
upon the cold ground while the machine began its bootup processes.
Upon each of Dylan’s
wrist, both ends of the string were tied. There was a decent amount
of slack in each strand. With little strain, he closed both arms
towards his center, as if operating a chest workout machine. A small
click registered, resulting in a brief smile flashing across his
face. Up above, he could hear a gasp exit his wife.
“I don't know what
you did,” she announced, in a giddy tone, “But I see the mouse is
active. You did it honey!”
Dylan tested the
slack of the ropes once more. “Eh, it's a very spitball and
duct-tape solution. I'll have to be here to man the mouse. If you
press down as you normally do, that should do the trick if you wanna
click on something. Just mind how much pressure your using, I’m not
a piece of foam or plastic.”
Melissa nodded, not
knowing whether her husband could even perceive such an action from
his vantage, “I only need the computer for a short time ... but
...”
A shadow of caution
had entered her voice, “… Surely there isn't another way? I mean,
you'll be fine right?”
“If you're doing
the pressing honey,” Dylan reassured, “I'll be more than fine!”
Another bout of
blushes stained Melissa’s cheeks. She felt her thumbs twiddle at
her waist, while her feet angled inward.
Keeping her eye on
the minuscule form trapped against the mouse pad, Melissa gingerly
stepped forward. Her fingers fully extended, ready to man the
computer’s keyboard.
All Dylan could
perceive of the executive were her nylon covered legs, stretching
into the sky above. Melissa’s thighs, full, yet defined,
disappeared into her black skirt, much like a trail of gas stripped
from a star only to be consumed by a black hole. Down upon the ground
lay her feet, contained by sharp black stilettos. The heels
supporting her footwear were not unusually lengthy in proportion, yet
to Dylan, they created an arch he could have easily driven several
cars under.
This structure was
then lifted up. It appeared miraculous that such a massive object,
the size of a decently affordable property, could even be suspended
in the air. The stiletto hovered towards his position, casting a
shadow over Dylan, as an imposing UFO would. Nylon material folded
and stretched over flexed calves as they shifted. The tiny technician
found himself swallowing a clump of spittle upon witnessing such a
gargantuan event close up.
Not for long, he
found himself underneath the stilleto’s tread. Unlike the rest of
the heel, the tread was a tan color. It was textured with small, even
ridges. Dark scuffs and slight areas of caked dirt stained the bumpy
terrain. Slowly, the bottom of her sole fell.
Dylan wondered if
seeing the sky fall would evoke a similar sensation. His arms tensed,
for he too, would run around in the same manner as the offending
chicken, screaming his head off. With little ceremony, the bottom
tread made contact. It was made from stiff, stern material. Pressure
from the foot turned his face to the side. Force compressed every
inch of his body. Foam surrounded him, as her weight had pressed him
into the padded surface of the pedal.
Instinct forced him
to try to bringing his arms together. Incidentally, this produced the
clicking signal Melissa had sought. Immediately, she released her
foot’s hold on the pedal, and by extension, Dylan.
Quickly, she checked
under the desk; eyes wide with concern. “Dylan?” she asked, “I'm
not pressing too hard, am I?”
His face red from
burden, nevertheless glowed with an ecstatic glint. “I can take
whatever you give me honey!”
With a slow nod,
Melissa pressed on. Several mouse clicks allowed her to bring up the
necessary documents Serena had left unprocessed.
While she exercised
caution and efficiency with her motions, Dylan still struggled
underneath the significant weight that was still required to even
move the pedal. Each press reintroduced him most intimately with her
treads. He felt his face turn purple as her sole dug into his
entirety. Next to it, he truly was something puny. In fact, the area
of the front of her stiletto could have provided enough square feet
for a spacious room.
Each time her foot
drew back, a deep red mark would be etched upon his face. The
treading pattern was making itself known upon him. Pain, bright and
gaudy, screamed at him each time pressure was relieved, but Dylan
opened not his mouth.
Melissa’s
discerning eye took note, as the documents on screen began their
agonizingly lengthy processing, that what she viewed was most
expertly formatted. She made an obscure note to herself to include
such praise in the IT team’s upcoming review.
Still, she felt her
fingers grip the keyboard as the agonizing wait stretched seconds
into minutes. Upon completion of each page, she found herself far too
enthusiastically slamming down upon the pedal. Perhaps within the
depths of her mind, she legitimately thought the use of such force
would hasten the computer’s cycling.
This change was
noticed by Dylan, as his wife’s stilettos began aggressively
assaulting him. Each press brought him deeper into the pedal’s
foamy surface. This was not enough to alleviate the enormous
executive’s incomprehensible weight she could bring to bear.
Muscles screamed in pain, while bones groaned, forced into unusual
positions.
After a particularly
nasty press, in which Dylan felt a few ribs crack, he let out a
scream, but was silenced by Melissa’s imposing tread, bloodying his
mouth. Lamentations he held could only be heard within. Yet, such a
simple task of merely pressing a pedal had pushed his body to the
limit. The pain, however, was not the only unbearable aspect to his
current predicament.
Whenever he would
get a chance to breathe, Dylan noticed that his trousers hugged his
waist in a tighter manner than usual. While bouts with crushing heels
had dulled his train of thought, he had begun realizing exactly what
was the cause of this.
There was a
noticeable bulge within his pants. The heavy duty material had tented
around something stiff and study that lay within his thighs. He found
it hard to justify why exactly this had occurred. But, in all the
pain he had experienced, apparently, where the sun dared not show
itself, something else had registered.
Green eyes gazed up
at his wife’s face. It lay at a great distance. He could even swear
there was atmospheric haze clouding some of the finer details.
Melissa’s eyes were glued to the screen. Her brow had notably
furrowed, and within her pale blue orbs, there was a phenomenon that
could be described as fury lurking within. Her brown hair flowed
lusciously in a wavy manner, down behind her shoulders, impeded by
her sharp executive’s blazer.
That blazer bulged
substantially at her chest area. In fact, her substantial curves
threatened to obscure her expression that hovered so far away. Below
such a generous tracts of land, her torso slimmed, leading to a
nicely slim waist.
Then the skirt, her
coy black skirt, so adept at casting in shadow what he knew he
desired. Stocky thighs, wider than a highway, or even two, loomed as
impossible tree trunks that could house obscure hermits, and tribal
denizens. They led to calves that bulged and jutted behind. All were
cast in a tight black cover, silky pantyhose that left just the hint
of her pale, smooth skin visible.
Dylan’s trousers
could not help but tighten further.
As she smashed down
upon him, again and again, testing his constitution to the very
limit, Melissa found herself focusing more on what lay in front of
her, instead of below her. All that occupied her thoughts were
frustration at a defunct piece of technology. This mundane emotion
had Dylan’s life at her mercy.
He could have let
out a cry for help, instead, a stifled moan escaped him.
“This infernal
pedal's working fine,” Melissa fumed above, her voice rattling the
terrain around him, “But the processing is as abysmal as ever.”
The pedal was
stabbed again, this time, by the end of her heel. A great spire of
material careened towards Dylan. It’s radius at the end was half
his height, yet such an object had the full mass of his wife driving
it. Her heel crashed into his legs.
Yells of pain and
pleasure was the result of this, yet Melissa gave no indication she
could hear him. His legs, trapped under such concentrated pressure,
he fully expected to be rendered into much. Yet, the infernal bulge
that had tormented him so had escaped, instead, rubbing against the
top of the heel.
A scream of
frustration was let out, as he struggled against his binds. Even with
the heel against him, Dylan felt his hips begin to rock. Within his
briefs, the man knew that his undergarments were no longer dry.
Melissa let out a
triumphant sigh, for finally, the last report was processing. She
allowed her foot to rest against the pedal that had caused her too
much grief that day. Occasionally, she saw fit to lightly tap it.
While her playful
taps provided a respite for Dylan’s anguish, another form of
torment had been advanced. Even an object, nay, a plain as great as
her tan-colored sole, could rub him the wrong way. Tears began to
flow down his eyes. In a pure act of depraved instinct, he began to
stick out his tongue whenever the stiletto would linger on him,
wicking away dirt and scum that had accrued between ridges.
Once the
notification had been sent that the final report had been sent,
Melissa sent her shoe down in one last triumphant crash, exiting the
program. Dylan was hit with such a great force, his own dignified
resistance had been crushed. His hips thrust against his wife’s
sole, until he sensuously soiled his trousers.
Her husbands actions
at last, compelled a quizzical look from Melissa. Narrow eyes widened
as she took her foot off of the problematic pedal.
The executive’s
vast heart hurt her chest with every beat, as she lay witness to her
husband’s dilapidated form upon the pedal. Tears lay on the verge
of wetting her eyes as she gazed at his anguished face and battered
body. Her husband was indeed intact, and alive, but that was the only
positive she could derive.
Even the sight of a
most unusual dark spot that stained the crotch of his pants did not
dissuade her sorrows.
In an outburst that
would have embarrassed her own secretary, she cried, “Oh! I'm sorry
dearest! I'm so stupid and forgetful! I-”
“Honey...” he
heaved, words barely able to escape him “I ah ... I-”
There was a sound of
collision, namely, a body slamming into the thick gray entrance to
the computer. The culprit soon turned out to be Serena, her once
tight bun now disheveled, while glasses lay at an awkward angle
across her eyes. She let out several heaves, forcing her most buxom
chest to rise and fall as the waves of the ocean would. Within her
arms lay the substantial file Melissa had burdened her with earlier
that day.
The executive
immediately stood straight up, not even bothering addressing her
distressed husband. Her motion was akin to a spring being released,
occurring completely on its own, with little deliberation. Meanwhile,
Melissa’s expression, once labored with sorrow and regret, had now
been rendered its usual blank slate. Compassionate eyes grew icey,
cold and piercing, enough so she could have stabbed her secretary
with a glare alone.
“Miss,” Serena
squeaked, shaking Melissa out of her trance, “the computer's
working right?”
A thin hand brushed
through her chestnut mane, sending a couple of luscious locks flying
in the air. Melissa’s eyes veered back to the computer, which was
now at her back. As Serena began to maneuver towards it, the
executive, in an unconscious act, would impede her path to the
machine.
“Indeed,” she
confirmed, “But it's only a temporary solution. Surely, you don't
have a use for it?”
Serena shook her
head rapidly, “Some of the documents you gave me need to be faxed
to our vendors! I need to get this done now! I don't wanna be late.”
Too bad. There
was every reason to shoot down her secretary’s request. In fact,
the words lay at the tip of her tongue. But, as she peered into
Serena’s own brown eyes, she witnessed nothing but desperation.
If I don’t
allow her this small triumph after what has happened today, will she
ever recover?
Melissa found herself eyeing down Serena, taking in her
pencil skirt, which flowed over her bare legs, down to her own footwear. Serena
wore a pair of open-toed mules, colored a deep brown. Five toes peered through
each, their nails colored a soft pink. Thick, ridged heels propped the ends of
her feet up, adding a few (giant) inches to the comparatively short woman,
although it was not enough to see eye-to-eye with her boss.
As she glared at her feet, Melissa felt her brow furrowing,
and her heartbeat accelerate. One of the hands at her side began clenching into
a fist.
“Serena, look at the pedal.”
Melissa veered out of the way, allowing her secretary a
clear vantage. A gasp squeaked out of the nervous woman as her gaze fell upon
the battered form of Dylan strapped against the foot mouse.
“T-there's a man on there!” she most poignantly noticed.
“He's our technician, this was the only way to make sure the
machines functions properly.” Melissa explained.
A shadow fell over her eyes. “As you can see, such an
activity has tested him. I will allow you to use the machine if he feels up to
it. If not, you will have to exercise patience until a more permanent solution
is found.”
Her icy gaze fell upon her spent husband, still straining
from the residual effects of the gauntlet of pain and pleasure he had suffered.
Dylan tested his aching joints, and was aware of one or two ribs that were not
intact. His breath was pained, while his lungs still felt as if they were
compressed.
There was every reason to refuse. The words were at the tip
of his tongue. Yet, when he felt himself under his wife’s glare, staring up at
her imposing form with a stature that could scrape the sky itself, he felt his
throat go dry, and catch whatever he had to say. From her cold, piercing glare,
to her ominous dark, yet sharp manner of dress, she embodied the very authority
of a mighty executive; the master of his puny life.
Something within his trousers began to stir once more.
“I can handle it, don’t worry.”
Melissa did her best to not betray any shock. She wished to
reprimand him right there, to shut down this suicidal undertaking he had
committed himself to. But, it would be his word, the man who operated the
machine, who bore all the pain for the sake of her company, against her own.
“Don't make me come back to a red puddle.” she ordered,
drawing close to her secretary. She allowed her superior height to give weight
to her words, “You will be fired if so, not to mention legal charges.”
A wad of spittle was subsequently swallowed by the nervous
woman.
“Yes ma’am.”
The executive placed a hand on her hip, “I have other duties
to administer to. I will be back to assess the machine, and our technician.”
She entered a brisk walk, towards the exit. Upon placing her
hand on the door handle, she peered back over her shoulder, watching Serena man
the machine. She allowed doubt to cloud her sure glare, before pulling the door
open.
Serena’s a good girl. Dylan will be fine. At least, he
better be.
As the secretary stood in front of the machine, memorizing
the already occupied screen, she muttered to her self, “Okay, okay, don't mess
up.”
Stout fingers moved quickly across the keyboard, sending
rhythmic taps echoing around the room. Her efforts required her to close and
open windows, and thus, the bottom of her mule was brought to bear against the
mouse pedal.
From Dylan’s vantage, while he considered his wife a most
voluptuous creature, it was clear the woman standing above him now proved far
more endowed than his beloved. Smooth calves with little blemish bulged out
with a softness that he could have sunk into without a trace. Her skirt could
not hide her thighs, massive destroyers that could serve as a landscape in of
themselves. Notably, the secretary had not considered that men of Dylan’s
stature were advantaged as such in the ways of unwanted observation, which was
why he could behold a stripped strip of cloth that provided just the barest
sense of modesty.
Luckily, the technician needed not to shield his eyes, for
the shadow of Serena’s mule proved sufficient. He could not detect any notable
tread on the bottom. All he could view was a thick sole which gave a sufficient
platform for her feet to be elevated upon.
Soon, all light had been blocked out. Her sole was the
entire ceiling, stretching beyond infinity. As the great plain of her mule fell
upon him, Dylan could only brace himself.
Her first effort was clumsy. Initially, her mule pummeled
Dylan into the padding, stealing all of his breath away. Notably, however,
after a few seconds, Serena let up, as if she just remembered what exactly she
was doing when she pressed the pedal. Her sole appeared to be made of a softer
material. Compared to his wife’s unyielding stiletto, even at her worst, Serena’s
earth-shattering mass proved more bearable.
That being said, Serena did not exercise as much restraint
as her boss when operating the machine. Her trained motions fell upon Dylan in
an unrelenting manner, as if instinct and routine had overridden her sense of
caution.
In between agonizing presses, Dylan found a chance to squeak
out, “Ma'am, you’re pressing-”
Immediately, the secretary shrank back, “Oh! Sorry I'm sor-”
Yet, her bespectacled eyes caught sight of something most
peculiar. While the diminutive man’s clothes had become wrinkled and ragged, a
suspicious stain sat within the middle of his pants. Clear as day, lay the dark
spot, revealed by the enhanced giantess eye.
A nervous finger extended, “Eh .. you had a little...”
The technician gave out a surprised, “Oh!”
Under a gaze straight from the sky, he sought to avoid any
form of eye contact, as he justified, “Uh, I might need a bathroom break.”
A nervous chuckle punctuated the tall tale from the mouth of
the short man.
“Is that so?” inquired the secretary. Dylan had noticed her
tone lost some of its nervous inflection. In fact, there appeared to be very
little inflection within her voice, as if the words themselves were as
contrived as his explanation.
Serena lifted her foot once more, her mighty mule blocking
out all fluorescent illumination from the ceiling high above. Yet, the descent
of her monolithic footwear proved far more deliberate. Dylan wondered if a
great alien craft landing upon the unexplored Earth would grant a similar impression.
Surely, such a paltry expression of superior extraterrestrial technology would
lack the sheer power and scale that this mere secretary’s mighty foot
possessed.
As the tread made contact with him again, Dylan was not
forced into the confines of the pedals cushioning as before. Indeed, while he
could sense the infinite mass trapped behind the smooth terrain that caressed
his tired form, a sense of restraint prevented her weight from being fully
brought to bear upon him. The mule began moving across his body, the material
of its sole rubbing up against his face, tussling his hair and kneading his
clothes. In a way, it was as if the leviathan of a work shoe was massaging him.
Under her mule’s tender trample, Dylan realized that one
part of his body remained uncomfortably active.
“Do you like it?”
The secretary’s voice was completely unlike that of what
came before. It was tainted with seductive nectar, almost in the same manner of
honey that his wife loved to talk to him with. But there was an element,
something evocative of a siren, or a forbidden tree in the garden of paradise,
that provoked Dylan’s resistance.
“Is that why you came up with this?”
Serena’s eyelids had fallen halfway. Her lips were pursed,
as if her maw was bragging of their luscious nature. Despite Dylan’s
exhaustion, his heartbeat was rapidly accelerating. While nearly all of his
limbs felt numb, he knew of at least one area where blood-flow was not an
issue.
Blonde locks waved in the air as Dylan shook his head,
“N-Wait!”
Down came Serena’s mule once more. Her heel was the first to
impact the foam surface of the pedal, before the shoe rolled forward. The
bottom of her mule advanced like an approaching wave, swallowing up the terrain
before him. Soon, Dylan found his legs underneath her succulent pressure. Next
was his waist, made all the more agonizing by his restless hormones. His torso,
then his head soon followed, until he lay completely smothered by the
secretary.
His wife’s spineless underling had completely captured him
with nothing but her shoe.
Occasionally, she would allow him some semblance of relief.
Her mule would agitate him with a light tap, light in that it would slam into
him with the force of a truck, not like a locomotive had the woman showed less
caution.
“My boss's mean feet must have been frighting!” Serena
sympathized, “Here you poor thing, I'll take good care of you!”
At this point, her thoughts had completely betrayed her
work. The secretary’s attention was now completely devoted to the man
underneath her. A warm blush formed on her round cheeks. She brought a finger
to her mouth, as her tender affections continued.
While the bottom of her shoes were of a synthetic, cold,
soulless manufacture, Dylan could not help but be receptive. Most certainly,
the plump feet that were housed within the mules, the size of a full sized
house, were of indescribable warmth.
“You've been a real good boy,” Serena mused, “It must have
been hard, getting mashed under our big scary shoes! I think you deserve a
little reward.”
“R-rewa-” Dylan
squeaked.
Her mule was drawn away. Her leg then rose rapidly, allowing
the open-toed workshoe to fly effortlessly off her extremity. Dylan’s eyes
could now scrutinize ever fold, every tendon, each painted digit of Serena’s
fully exposed foot.
Soon all he could see was the base of the imposing paw. The
skin of Serena’s foot was unbelievably smooth. An artist could not have
imagined such an idealized form of the human foot. Though he had not felt a
single cell upon it, Dylan could imagine her tender flesh yielding against his
very touch.
It was not long before all he could perceive was the flesh
of her ped. His head turned away in anticipation. Upon his body, the skin of her
foot made contact. True to his observations, he easily sunk into the oppressing
digit. Its flesh conformed to every contour, sparing none of his own
extremities.
The situation became far worse as her foot circled around,
teasing his pathetic form.
Soon, her toe tapped against him, much in the manner she did
with her mule moments earlier. Dylan wheezed in desperation, feeling the limits
of his conviction weaken. As a familiar, intense feeling washed over him, guilt
began to set it.
Dylan let out a squeak
as he lost himself for the second time that day.
A warm smile spread across Serena’s face. She hummed to
herself a most melodic tune, her voice almost ethereal. Her fingers danced
across the keyboard, as the last document was readied for processing.
Her foot pressed down, her most tender attempt yet. There
was a noticeable heat emanating from the diminutive shape of the young man. She
was sporting a coy grin, which only grew wider as she noticed this.
So preoccupied was she with her work, both on the documents,
and upon the technician, that the presence of another had gone completely
unnoticed.
It was so, that Serena leapt into the air just a bit, as she
heard the sharp voice of Alexia behind her.
“Alright Seri- hey, they got that dumb machine working
haven't they?”
Slowly, the secretary turned round. Her raunchy confidence
she had completely evaporated. Only the nervous shell that everyone else within
the company had known her by remained.
“Oh! Uh, yeah,” she stammered, “I managed to uh - finish up
over here.”
A toothy grin lightened Alexia’s face, “That's real good
Ser. Say, why don't you keep that piece of junk open for me? I've got some
documents of my own to submit.”
Serena began twiddling her thumbs, “Y-you said that you
wouldn't need to until next week?”
“Yeah, but if I get em in early,” Alexia explained, “I can
keep icy Messi off my ass. Now c'mon, I wanna get some good work in before the
machine craps out again.”
Objections teetered on the edge of Serena’s lips, “Yeah,
there's a- there's a-”
One of Alexia’s arms settled on Serena’s shoulders. Amber
eyes glared down, commanding, but also caring in their nature, “Hey Ser- love
ya, but gotta be honest, you're tying me down here. Why don't you loiter a bit
outside and I'll join you once I'm done.”
Serena objected, “Bu-”
“Bye!”
Alexia waved Serena away. Her friend did not refuse her, and
began sliding towards the exit. She had managed to retrieve her discarded mule,
and expressed a hidden relief that the working woman never bothered to comment
exactly on why she had taken off one shoe. The secretary found it hard to walk,
for her heart, hidden behind her buxom torso, felt heavier than usual.
An amber glare was shot towards the cathode screen. Alexia
bit her bottom lip as she set upon closing out of Serena’s opened windows. As
there was nothing of consequence or interest, she sought to do this as quickly
as possible.
Dylan had barely recovered, as he witnessed flared, gray
briefs over a pair of slim legs march over to where Serena had just stood.
Heeled sandals the color of burnt wood clacked upon the ground. Unlike
Melissa’s crisp, snare-like rap, this new woman’s steps sounded scattered,
unhinged. They were the very rhythm of chaos.
Sitting within her sandals were feet covered in tan colored
stockings. The straps of the woman’s footware appeared to sink into the
material.
There would be no reprieve or regard. As soon as she had
made her way over, already her sandal veered over the pedal. Dylan was granted
no time to shout, or even admire the narrow tread, as her foot slammed down
upon him. It struck him in the manner of a hammer from the sky, vengeance sent
by heaven itself. Already, he felt himself annihilated by the first press.
Alexia growled at the screen before her as she jammed her foot
against the pedal again. The foot mouse indeed, was responding in a most
peculiar way. She wondered if a stone from the outdoors had somehow wedged
itself upon the padded surface. No further energy was spent deliberating upon
this phenomenon, for the prospect of her work began consuming her.
“Fuck, forgot how slow this is!” she vented.
In an act of sheer frustration, she allowed her foot to kick
the pedal. Dylan, still intact, but in immense pain, was bulldozed by the point
of her toes. Spittle was ejected from his mouth. What followed was an agonized
scream, an instinctual plea in response to the utter assault his body had
endured.
Alexia narrowed her eyes, “Wha-”
She had perceived a high-pitched sound, something that could
have not been produced by a machine. Most certainly, the piece of junk before
her lacked the bitrate to simulate something that sounded so organic. Amber
eyes peered under the desk, to the foot pedal she had enjoyed abusing so. A
stray hand temporarily flicked away some of the heavy bangs obscuring one of
her eyes, for she needed both to comprehend what she saw.
Crouching down, she inspected the small man who had found
himself bound in such a position.
“Woah,” she voiced. A small smile began to creep across her
face, “No, let me guess, you lost a bet?”
“No,” Dylan countered, “I'm-”
“Hush you little squirt,” interrupted the giantess, holding
up a finger easily exceeding Dylan by three fold, “Let the big girl work this
out... Oh wait, you pissed our lovely boss off haven't you?”
Emerald eyes widened, so much so that the far more immense
woman that loomed above took notice.
Alexia was now smirking, “Well if there's anything I like,
it’s rolling over you midgets. Can't say some of the ... *ahem* workplace
accidents were enjoyable for the other party, but at least I had fun.”
Workplace accidents? The technician felt a lump in
his throat. With the remaining strength in his battered limbs, he began to
strain against his own bindings.
Alexia paid no heed to his struggles as she continued to
muse, “And if I'm being endorsed from upstairs...”
She stood up straight. Her foot was brought forth once more,
burying Dylan underneath her sandal. The foam material he laid upon at this
point had been thoroughly abused, and thus, offered little relief from her
assault.
“.. I guess I gotta give you exactly what you deserve!” the
woman punctuated. Her eyes glowed, as if she drew a sort of esoteric power from
the torment she inflicted.
Alexia’s labors continued. It was clear that she worked with
a focused intensity. Every document she brought up elicited strong strokes
across the keyboard that threatened to pop out its keys. Whenever the machine
would pause on a task, one of her hands would slap the side of the monitor,
despite the fact that no processing chips were installed anywhere near the
display.
Dylan would bear the brunt of her excess. Unlike Melissa or
Serena, who, even in their distracted states, would show a sort of deference to
the well-being of the mouse pedal, Alexia appeared determined in every way to
break it. Her heeled sandal would press into, and twist upon the surface. By
extension, they would press into, and twist Dylan’s already fragile form.
The technician’s heavy jacket had begun to unravel and tear
from her actions. At one point, Dylan experienced the bridge of his nose
breaking. Sanguine liquid flowed down his nostrils and invaded his mouth,
forcing him to cough. This appeared to elicit a form of reprieve from Alexia,
as she glared down from on high.
Her face still wore a smirk, appearing to disregard her
deliberate torments. Perhaps, more disturbingly, she even gave the impression
she took pride in them.
Alexia scrutinized the bent, but not broken man. While he
certainly occupied a man’s profession, his complexion and expression was much
like that of a boy. He possessed bright wide eyes, thick curly hair, and even a
smattering of freckles across his rounded cheeks. Indeed, even to someone such
as her, she could feel her heartbeat accelerate just a tad.
“You're one tough cookie, you know that?” she observed.
Dylan could only cough in response.
“Dang, cutie too.” she continued, purring, “But since I aim
to please, I'm just gonna have to mash you here.”
Her foot rose, as she angled her heel to implement maximum
force. Alexia pondered the sensation her sandals would feel, mashing a man
against a foam pedal. Most certainly, she mused the cleanup would not be easy.
It would most certainly be an enticing experience, far more so than the other
opportunities she could embrace such a lethal vocation.
“Wait! Please! Let me explain!” the insect begged.
The shadow of her heeled sandal overcame him, “Sorry, It's
only business.”
Dylan’s voice grew shrill from sheer desperation, “I'm the
technician! This was how I fixed the problem!”
The giantess rolled her eyes. “Sure, and I'm Leonardo Da
Vinci! And if you're the whiz kid, you're lousy. The computer's still slow as
hell!”
“It was the pedal, it malfunctioned!”
“Really, the stupid pedal again?” growled Alexia. Her foot
still maintained its position over the hapless man, but her other had begun to
wobble. “How original. Take it from a pro, if you're bullshitting, be less
predictable.”
Rapid breaths accompanied wildy darting eyes, as Dylan
searched for what next to say. Luckily, for his sake, such a process did not
take long. As he chose his next words, emerald eyes met amber, “Melissa would
be very unhappy!”
A puff of air escaped the woman’s lips, “What? You're her
husband or something?”
“Yes!”
All that answered him was the hum of the machine.
Processing, innovative several decades ago, churned away, filling in the
silence between giantess and the man at her mercy. Slowly, her foot withdrew,
allowing blinding florescent light to bathe his form.
Like the crack of a whip, a wicked cackle broke the silence.
Alexia had to steady her chest from turbulence resulting from her raucous
laughter. Several tears, drops that could have hydrated Dylan thoroughly,
streamed down her cheek.
“Hoo boy!” she exclaimed, wicking away the moisture from her
eyes, “That's rich! Yeah, some wife you've got there, leaving you tied up while
letting other woman smash you to bits!”
As she pondered upon what she had said, the working woman
added on, “That's actually kinda like Melissa, now that you think about it.”
A mote of fury entered Dylan’s chest. Neither the exhaustion
of his limbs, nor the soreness of his flesh could prevent his knee-jerk
outburst, “You don't know what she's like!”
“Really going with this are ya?” Alexia mused, peering
further down at the battered man. Amber eyes caught a lustrous twinkle upon one
of the man’s infinitesimal hands. “Even got a ring to back you up.”
And why would he go through the trouble of getting a ring
to prove to me that he wasn’t tied up here by Melissa … to prove that he’s
married to her …
“Gee, you really are married to that ice queen are you?” she
realized, her own breath becoming audible, “I never would have guessed. Figured
a little stain like you would be a bit less ... happy looking. But, you’re like
a mini bottle of sunshine.”
Dylan’s eyes looked from the left, to the right, as conflict
resided within him. “Uh, well, thanks miss.” he finally decided to say.
Alexia, meanwhile, decided to stand at her full height once
more. It was clear, even to Dylan who was but a speck to the titans of the
workplace, that even as she towered above, Melissa still had a good half to a
head on her.
“Tell you what, let's reevaluate here,” Alexia began to
concede, “I know Melissa, and believe me, you don't need to defend her here.
Being with a woman like that? Forget what I was thinking, that must be the most
miserable existence I could think of.”
Again, anger itself spoke before Dylan could even consider
what flew out of his mouth, “Hey, don't talk about Melissa that way! She's
great!”
A sigh escaped the giantess, “Relax sunshine, she isn't
here!”
Dylan saw her lips curl into a smile. Her lips, full, and
shaded a rather dark rich color, pouted as she beheld him. Sweat formed on his
forehead, and the stirrings that had tormented his trousers earlier that day
had begun to return.
“But ... I am.”
Her hand reached down, and began undoing the straps of one
of her sandals. Each binding was done in a deliberate manner; it was clear she
was in no hurry to extract her foot from her shoe. Every time a strap was
undone, she flicked the floppy material away. Once unbound, her foot began
sliding out of its containment. Methodically it moved, while digits, confined
in tight tan material, wriggled and flexed.
Despite himself, the technician could not take his eyes off
of the sight. He could not even blink.
What he saw was like witnessing a leviathan moving in the
deep. Countless tonnes of foot hovered in the air. Now, he could fully take in
the imposing details as they drew close. His discerning eyes caught the manner
in which the cloth of Alexia’s stockings wrapped, stretched and folded over her
skin. The temperature had noticeably risen, but this was not due to the ancient
machine overheating. A distinct smell of flesh mixed with a pungent perfume
filled his nostrils, almost causing him to enter some sort of delirium.
The sweltering warmth of her tights caressed him, as her
foot pressed against the pedal. There was not enough force utilized to even
move the device so it would toggle; not normally, nor with Dylan’s jury-rigged
solution. Still, the desired effect Alexia sought took place. In the depths of
her sensitive ped, she detected a rather hard, stiff nub.
“Man, she must be so cold your balls must have turned blue,”
she said in a heavy, breathy voice. Dylan could not utter a word of objection,
for his mouth had taken in the full taste of her stocking.
She continued, “Don't worry, I'll give you a little
excitement.”
Her efforts intensified, as the sole of her foot circled
around. Alexia’s ears picked up a few desperate squeaks. The technician’s body,
hard from years of labor, shuddered in her tender flesh. Were she to continue,
the woman could anticipate a rather delightful climax fast approaching.
Movement caught the edge of her vision. Her head turned
back, and she let out a sharp exhale as she saw the figures of Melissa and
Serena rush by. Panic, however, was the last item on her mind. She did let up,
however, and discerned a pained whine from the mousy man below as a result.
The heavy, gray entrance lumbered open. Melissa was the
first through. Her expression was blank as always, but her eyes told a
different story. Icy orbs burned with a magnitude that would have put the sun
to shame. If her glare was a cannon, she would have shot Alexia with it.
Serena, meanwhile, had delegated herself to the background.
Her fingers twiddled, and she did her best to avoid eye-contact with her
friend.
Melissa drew close, her stilettos slapping against the cold
floor, sounding less like heels, and more akin to gunshots. Such was the sound
that Dylan, even in his agonized state, grew excited, even through the sight of
Alexia’s legs blocked off his viewpoint.
Making the most of her stature, the executive glared down at
Alexia, before she began, “Serena here warned me you were to use the computer.
Regarding your dubious history with the regular-sized, I simply wanted to make
sure our technician is alright.”
Alexia smirked, sending a wave of unease through Melissa,
“Oh, he's alright! I've met him. Worked like a charm! And have to say, easy on
the eyes.”
The woman delighted upon witnessing her boss tighten her
lips. She could easily make out the outlines of clenched teeth within her
mouth. Melissa’s hands, folded just below her chest, had now tightened into
fists.
“Heck, in fact, I'd much prefer it this way.” she continued,
moving her shoeless foot over the pedal once more, “This mess of a machine's
30% faster here with the little guy working.”
Her foot smothered Dylan for the second time. She had
arranged it so the gap of her toes gripped his head, while the pad of her
anterior sole gripped the rest of his body. Softly, did she press down,
toggling the pedal, and getting out another squeak from Dylan.
Repeatedly she did this, demonstrating what Melissa already
knew, the fixed functionality of the mouse. The executive was granted a clear
perspective of Alexia’s foot at work. Her mouth furrowed as she witnessed it in
action.
“Your sandal's off,” she observed.
“That's because, despite the padding, shoes are really hard
on him. He's got a broken nose for Christ's sake! Only some uncaring bitch
would press on him with her shoes on.”
What Alexia witnessed, she would treasure for the years
beyond. Melissa, already of a pale complexion, grew as white as snow. Cold
sweat formed on her forehead, while her eyes wavered. The executive’s lips
trembled, while a hesitant foot, caused her to back away.
Meanwhile, as Melissa began to relent, Alexia increased the
vigor in which she pumped the pedal, no longer caring about the impression of
demonstrating functionality. Her boss’s eyes remained glued to the spot,
witnessing the hidden form of her husband languishing underneath the muggy,
musky stocking. Several moans made their way to Melissa’s ear, but she could
not summon any indignation to even let out a word of protest.
Once Alexia sensed the man below her shudder once more, she
relented, resulting in Dylan letting out another frustrated squeak. Never, did
the woman’s eyes let up, glaring into the once cold irises of her boss. A
knowing smile tainted her arrogant expression, daring the executive to take
action.
But, Melissa’s guilt-filled soul could not muster up the
challenge.
“I trust he'll be alright?” she begged, “You know we'll get
into legal trouble if any major injuries occur?”
“Relax Icy,” came the false reassurance, “I'm gentler than a
silk handkerchief.”
With the timidity of a lost puppy, Melissa retreated. Her
eyes veered back to Serena, then to Alexia once more, as she wavered between
exiting the room, and remaining.
Soon enough, the CEO was able to pass through the door.
Serena shot her a desperate look, before she too, followed her superior out.
Alexia was left alone with Dylan once more.
A predatory look overtook her face, as she glared down at
the messy sight before her foot. Licking her lips, her foot advanced.
Her actions were interrupted as the door swung open again.
Melissa, it appeared, had doubled back. It appeared she had settled down. The
executive’s face was as stoic and deadpan as ever, as a dead-serious look was
shot into the depths of Alexia’s soul.
“Alexia!” she shouted most sternly.
“What?” responded the woman, her breath beginning to
accelerate.
“Watch your language,” scolded Melissa, “You are in a
professional environment.”
As soon as she had entered, she departed. The heavy door was
slammed behind her, a shocking accomplishment, considering its weight.
Rolling her eyes, Alexia continued. She pumped the pedal
once more, exiting out of her last document. With a satisfied sigh, she could
focus on her true task at hand.
Dylan was surrounded on all sides. With both arms bound, he
could not find purchase to free himself from the sweltering prison he found
himself in. His legs kicked out, sinking into warm cloth that stained his pants
with the barest layer of sweat. The technician’s face was all but consumed by
Alexia’s foot, while her big toe and second toe flanked the sides of his head,
pinching it in a most tender manner. Overwhelmed by sensuous sensations, it was
not long before he could feel his hips rock in desperation.
“Have to say, you've got poor taste in woman, but you are
the perfect pedal,” Alexia sneered.
Her foot continued to pump upon the man. Alexia’s pulses
increased in intensity, until she felt him closing in on the desired place. Not
yet little man, I’ve got way more mileage I can get out of you.
As her foot lifted off of him, Dylan could only plead, “What
are you doing?”
“You really should be honored,” Alexia cooed back at him, sticking
out her tongue, “Little ants like you usually aren't worth my time. I'd say
you've earned yourself a little prize.”
She pressed her big toe into Dylan’s face.
“Stop,” was all he could muster. His voice was muffled by
the mass of her flesh.
“Make me,” dared his tormentor, and his siren, “Don't worry,
your bitch isn't here. It's just me. Do this for me.”
“No,” groaned Dylan, into the heat of her stocking.
Her big toe moved up and down his body, a puny effort, but
one quite apparent on the poor man. His tongue was sticking out by instinct,
and he could taste her odorous taint, built up from a day spent in
heeled-sandals. Emerald eyes rolled back, while his hips continued to gyrate.
The only part of his that stood steady was his conviction. But even that was
beginning to waver.
“Worried that you're disrespecting wifey?” she teased,
intensifying her efforts, “Embarrassed that it takes only a foot to make you squirt?”
Another moan escaped him, delivered entirely into the mass
of her foot. Dylan’s fists clenched, as if that would hold off the tide of
pleasure. Yet, every time he was brought to the edge of despair, Alexia would
relent, and deny him release, provoking a pang of agony that tortured his
confused conscience.
He’s so cute when he’s frustrated like this. Oh Melissa,
I might just have to keep this little guy.
Alexia brought her foot to where her toe only covered
Dylan’s torso, leaving his head exposed. She giggled as she still felt his
squirms down below.
“If you pop, it'll be our little secret,” she taunted,
bringing a finger to her lips, “You don't have to tell anyone.”
She increased the pressure of her toe, and delighted when
Dylan’s face scrunched up once more. The man was desperately trying to divert
his attention, or for the third time, he would spill something he would regret.
He thought of his wife, whom he had devoted himself to. He
thought of her smile, her beautiful ice-blue eyes, her statuesque body, curvy
hips, voluptuous chest …
Clearly, a different avenue was required. The technician
pondered upon some of the most horrific horror movies he had witnessed, the
likes of which sent his wife into a frightful frenzy, hugging him tightly so that
the disgusting movie monsters would not harm her…
Apparently what would only work was imagining his
Grandfather, the respectable patriarch of his childhood, stark naked.
Alexia’s voice pierced through the aether, demanding his
attention, “You'll get to stick it to that cold-hearted bitch. It's the only
thing you'll ever get to stick in her.”
Dylan’s train of thought crashed. He was brought closer and
closer to the brink. The soft, tender, pungent stocking sunk into every contour
of his body. It even invaded the depths of his mind, to where closed eyes and
plugged ears could not escape. All of him, pain and pleasure, was now the
dominion of the woman who stood above him, who stood on him. And to her, he was
nothing but a plaything.
“Worried that you'll be a dirty little cheater?” she
sneered, her voice, a risque whisper, “She deserves it.”
The man desperately shook his head, yet the pressure within
kept building up.
“Let's finish this, but only if you ask nicely.”
He looked up, and cowered before her Amber glare. Each eye
burned like a yellow star. Were he to fly too close with wax wings, his devices
would burn, and be cast into the turbulent sea.
“Please stop ...” he begged.
A barrage of pressure assailed him, drawing him closer to
the abyss, before forcefully pulling him away.
“Try again.” she scolded, “Say, 'Mistress Alexia, allow my
nasty, tiny, cheating prick to cum.'”
“No, please...” he moaned as her toe pumped along his
hapless body. He would experience a pang of pain, now, every time he was denied
climax.
“C'mon, you filthy little stain. I'm waiting.”
Another rush of pressure finally broke his spirit. Dylan
felt his arms go slack. Emerald eyes, once full of life, were now rendered dull
and empty. In a pathetic squeak, his parched mouth opened. “Mi-Mistress.”
Alexia let out a sigh, “Close enough. Speaking of which ...”
Her foot pressed down one last time. Dylan offered no
resistance, and immediately felt release upon him. A loud squeak exited his
mouth. Tears streamed down his eyes, as his hips thrust against the extremity
above. Alexia felt a small wet stain upon her stocking, and grinned
victoriously.
“Nasty little cheater,” she taunted, “All from a woman's
foot.”
She brought the sole of her foot up, before smothering the
entirety of Dylan’s body. He notably glowed with heat, a combination of
clarity, embarrassment, and the day’s labors. A triumphant laugh rocked her
chest as she regarded the man trapped underneath her foot, as he stained her
stocking with tears and lecherous liquid.
Score 1 for Alexia! Better luck next time Messi!
...
Melissa’s office faced westward. As such, outside her
window, the evening sun ignited the sky with various hues. It was necessary to
keep the blinders down, lest every man and woman, big and small, blind
themselves once called to her office.
The executive herself, of course, kept her back to the view
outside. Yet, on this particular day, she appeared unlike her usual self. Her
posture, once proud and straight, was slumped over. Melissa’s expression, something
she always managed to keep unreadable, was now bursting with somber sympathy.
At her desk was a man, curled up in utmost shame. Dylan’s
eyes were red, having been recently stained with tears. He dared not even look
at his own wife, as if he was unworthy of her image. Even as she allowed a
pale, thin finger of a girth greater than any man to stroke down his back, the
gesture brought the disgraced technician little comfort.
Alexia you fiend, you will pay for making my husband this
way!
Melissa felt an immense pain in her chest as she witnessed
Dylan languish in such a state. Even more agonizing, was that none of her
reassurances, whether by speech, or by action, could lift his mood.
All except for one thing.
“I suppose I’ll have to punish you for your infidelity.”
For the first time that evening, Dylan looked up. A sort of
relief washed across his face, as if accepting punishment for a crime he had
never committed would uplift him. An understanding nod followed, as he awaited
the consequences his wife had planned for him.
“I can’t have prying eyes and sniveling sirens leading you
astray. For this evening, you will be tending to my nylons.”
Melissa’s fingers, once careful and tender, now pinched the
revived man by his shirt, dangling him over the edge of the desk. He was
brought down, down to her chair. Dropped upon the lush leather surface, he
could only gawk at her nylon-clad legs, stretching up as high as multi-story
buildings, flanking him on either side. Further inward, his keen eyes could perceive
where her thighs met, as well as the outline of his wife’s undergarments, an
enticing sight that still stirred hidden desires.
Venturing forth, into the black depths of his wife’s skirt,
Dylan was ready to perform his penance.
Melissa would later come to regret this decision, for her
evening proved quite unproductive. In addition, she was quite sure Serena had
caught her making the most unprofessional of facial expressions as her husband
serviced her most intimate needs with great passion. Such was her burden, being
the boss.