After that terrible day, the mother of one fewer awoke in her cage atop Lakshmi's dresser, alone. She climbed onto her owner's proffered palm without need of a command. Every fiber of her being cursed her for not asking where Julie was, but she never opened her mouth, and kept her eyes looking toward the expanse of Lakshmi's tanned flesh. Sheila's body still stung from welts and cuts produced by Lakshmi's flicking fingers -- her slashed face in particular -- but it was fear that cemented her silence: those fingers had punched like redwoods, and even imagined resistance against Lakshmi sent the tiny woman's legs shaking.
Sheila didn't protest when she was dropped into the fetid depths of the familiar gray sneaker; or when she was commanded, simply, to "clean." The interior was large enough to be a studio apartment, and its magnification assaulted her senses. The miniaturized mother dropped down to her knees and palms, shouting, "Yes, Goddess Lakshmi," and she scrubbed at the bitter foam floor of the oversized shoe with her teeth and tongue.
With pain Sheila ruminated on the fantasies she'd once had, holding this very sneaker over her nose and imagining Lakshmi as she wanted the woman to be. Trapped within the reality of her former maid's dominant reign, however, Sheila felt like a complete fool; terminally naive. That cloying aroma she craved before was an overpowering stink now; her tongue was caked with salty grime -- filth compacted to the insole by Lakshmi's hard-working sole that she had to swallow with great strain; the miniature woman's body shook with exhaustion and hunger, even as stuffed with gunk as she was.
Lakshmi left Sheila in her sneaker all morning. The giant's stomping shook the shoe; the tiny woman could hear Fatima and Anala's voices down the hall, out of sight -- in a whole other world, it seemed. Another reality. It was as if she didn't exist. Then the tremors increased with severity, and the gloom in the shoe deepened. Without warning, the world tilted, and Sheila tumbled end-over-end to the heel. She was scooped up and dropped onto one of Lakshmi's tattered flats instead, then was carried through the small-yet-cavernous house.
Sheila didn't need to be ordered twice: she worked on this new shoe all the same, not stopping even as it ferried her toward the giant's car -- a brand new sedan -- like a magic carpet; or while Lakshmi drove from house to house, wearing her sneakers and keeping the flats on the passenger's seat. The towering, statuesque maid never looked at her, or talked to her, and Sheila was continually transferred between Lakshmi's pairs of shoes throughout the day. As the giant labored, Sheila licked the sweat and grime that accumulated on both sets of footwear, fresh and old. It was an impossible task to complete -- or even keep up with -- in Sheila's diminutive state.
It would become a model for many of Sheila's days, after that. Unacknowledged, or ordered around. She woodenly forced herself to follow every instruction -- to inhale this, or ingest that, or tongue this clean. It left Sheila bloated and wrecked, body and mind.
For what must have been a week or more she didn't see any trace of Julie. It was hard enough not knowing if she was okay. The worst of it, however, was never having the courage to ask. That, and the awful relief in Sheila from her daughter not being around, and seeing her mother this way. These myriad emotions all mixed together and created an odd jumble that simply left Sheila deeply ashamed.
Lyla. In Sheila's mind she couldn't stop seeing her dead baby girl, but not as she usually pictured her, happy and smiling, like a graduation photo. Instead, her memory was of a puddle of lifeless gore, utterly destroyed.
Would that happen to Julie? Had it already? Would it happen to herself?
Sheila knew: there was nothing she could do to stop Lakshmi, or any of the self-proclaimed goddesses. Back in her cage, alone -- hugging herself, shivering, naked, collared -- Sheila's mind entered a hopeless void and the woman shut down. She wept until she fell into a slumber that would give her no rest, only fleeting respite, which instantly vanished whenever her eyes opened.
###
Meanwhile, Julie was with Anala.
"You're mine now," the serious young woman informed the shivering little slave she held in her fist. It was their first moment alone together. "And you're going to do everything I say. Don't and I'll step on you like your dumb sister. Is that what you want?" Anala put frantic itty-bitty Julie down on the ground at her deadly feet, and lifted her sole over her. The giant was still in her clothes from soccer practice; a damp cotton stench bowled over the mini teen. "Because I can do that, slave -- I can. Maybe you're too stupid to follow orders, anyway. Just like your pathetic sister. What was her name again? Ah, it doesn't matter.
"It felt so, so good to step on her, you can't even imagine. When Maa told us we were getting human pets I couldn't believe it. I've only read about crap like this online. But then she said you weren't really pets, like a dog or a cat. You're all just bugs." Anala's knuckles crackled as she flexed her toes over Julie's shivering form. "So you can be a smart bug, slave. Or you can be a dumb bug. It's your choice.
"But you should know: dumb bugs," Anala's lowering sole swallowed all the light around Julie and the smaller girl shrieked, "get stepped on!"
The slab of rosy tan flesh forced Julie flat on her back. Julie was only able to catch glimpses of the giant's smug visage -- and the fire in her eyes -- from between the looming high schooler's wiggling toes. The pressure all over her body was immense; at any moment, Julie imagined she might be crushed. She screamed and begged for mercy, trying to fight off Anala's thick brown toes with her stick-like limbs. The sweaty skin and firm muscles only pressed down harder in response; the giant's toes only smothered her more completely. Tiny Julie wailed in humiliation at the sour stink she was forced to inhale.
Anala's toes covered her until she nearly passed out, and then spread, and covered her again, and spread. Each time, Julie felt her mind teetering on an edge over unconsciousness, and yet she held on. Her begging words went unheeded, so she tried actions instead: kissing at Anala's toes instead of fighting them. When that didn't work, she licked, and only then did the monstrous toes seem appeased.
"Good bug," Anala mocked, stroking Julie's weeping form with her grubby toes. "Smart, bug. This is your life, now. Your life as a person is over; you're an insect. My pet buggy." Then her colossal form leaned over and Julie flinched as she was struck with hot spittle. "Now" -- and Anala's foot settled on Julie once more, and she looked up the giant's long leg, to her angry, serious expression -- "thank me for not crushing you like a dumb bug."
"Yes, Goddess Anala," Julie wailed in tears, and kissed the warm, slick toes that wouldn't release her head.
###
After what may have been two weeks, probably longer -- Sheila really couldn't be sure anymore, as much as she tried to count the passing days -- mother and daughter finally reunited, separated only by the distance between Fatima's soles, where they rested on the ground.
Fatima watched television with her feet atop the pair, keeping only enough weight on her heels as not to crush the pale women, or smother them beneath her flesh. The giant's soles were hot, hardened, and heavy on the squirming forms of the two women. They didn't writhe to escape -- no, they wormed their little bodies in an effort to please the thick, rugged flesh that blanketed them. For Sheila, it felt like hard labor in a hot sauna, and she was covered head-to-toe in Fatima's sweat. Dust rubbed off from her skin, clumping like mud.
Sheila and Julie went utterly ignored for most of the evening, save for the buzzing of the television on the far side of the room. The only acknowledgement they received was when Fatima repositioned a foot on top of one of them so that her little worshipper could better reach a sweet spot, or change what area of her sole they licked clean. Only once did the diminutive couple get a break: when the old woman rose to fetch her dinner from the oven. When the titan sat back down, she herded the tinies between her feet with hard prodding from her rough, boulder-like toes.
Fatima leaned forward and paused; the dowager chewed, her jowled mouth working in circles. Then she pursed her lips and a glob formed there. A mass of chromatic mush and saliva plopped down in front of Sheila and Julie and splattered them with warm gooey debris.
"Dinner," Fatima croaked with a laugh. Sheila watched in dismay as the old woman's fat big toe stirred the goop, flattening it even more. The living mountain then fanned her gnarled digits, presenting their undersides to the tiny women. It was a disgusting, humiliating sight, yet Sheila's stomach sent conflicting signals. It was trying to persuade her brain that this was something she wanted inside of her. The fallen mother had eaten very little in the way of food, other than scraps tossed down at her, or what she could find on the giants' feet; it showed in the troughs flesh between her ribs, and her sunken cheeks, and drooping eyelids.
"Thank you, Goddess Fatima," Julie half murmured, half shouted.
Sheila glanced at her daughter, aghast; the teen crawled on her hands and knees over to Fatima's raised appendage and started lapping at the chewed-up, spit-out food that mixed with the sweat and grime on the woman's toes.
Then Fatima's cold gray eyes cast a glare on Sheila; the little woman gazed back up, frozen in fear. "Come, bug. Eat," the giant elder commanded.
Sheila looked at the slick underside of Fatima's fat big toe, covered in chewed food. Her daughter lapped at the goop without protest. All at once Sheila was hit with a sudden jealousy that horrified her: she couldn't help but worry that her daughter would gobble it all up before she could get her fill.
"Yes, Goddess Fatima," she muttered.
The old woman's thick foot rose, knocking Julie over with a startled cry in the process. Sheila's vision snapped upward to the heavily lined face hanging overhead, and saw the deep frown carved into Fatima's ancient countenance. Terror peaked inside Sheila; especially when the heavy slab of Fatima's meaty sole started to lower down toward her. Images of a screaming, mangled, almost dead Lyla between the titanic elder's thick toes flashed in Sheila's mind.
"Yes, Goddess Fatima!" she shrieked out; the old woman cackled. When the giant returned her foot to the ground, Sheila hurriedly crawled forward and licked her spit-soaked meal from it. Her wounded cheek stung with the motions of her jaw. She lapped at the mush, shoulder to shoulder with Julie. It was horrible how good it felt inside of her. And when it was all gone, the two shrunken women continued to lick at the plump brown toes, and between every one.
###
Lakshmi's one and only daughter sat on her bed, legs flat and forming a c-shape, soles facing one another. Anala gave Sheila the most attention she'd had in weeks. Sheila suffered it with chagrinned acquiescence. Julie worked on Anala's opposing wall of flesh, mirroring Sheila's actions and words, but with a more spritely tone and demeanor, as put-on as it appeared.
It was the weekend. The orange morning poured in through the windows of the little, messy room. Anala wore a sleeveless black t-shirt with distressed capris jeans, and a big black-and-gold hat cocked to the side. It was all new, including the large phone she thumbed at, and the glinting gold chain around her ankle.
That wasn't all. There was Lakshmi's new sedan, of course, which Sheila found herself in almost every day, unless she was left at home to serve Fatima, or Anala, or to labor inside one of the giant women's shoes, forgotten. Appliances around the house were constantly carted away, replaced with modern, efficient machinery. The living room, too, could barely fit the enormous wide-screen television that replaced the old cathode-ray-tube-powered box that sat there before, and all three of the house's self-titled goddesses had flat-panel displays in their room now, too.
Anala's attention drifted to and fro between the television screen, the phone she held, and her slaves licking her sweaty soles clean. She micromanaged Sheila especially, telling the older woman which part of her foot to attend to, or she'd push her blond little head deeper between her toes, or point out wadded bits of sock lint for Sheila to eat. The tiny matron counted the minutes until Anala would be leaving that day for school -- not that serving Lakshmi or Fatima was any better, but at least they might leave her alone.
"Thank your goddess!" Anala ordered each time, and Sheila would mumble it around a mouthful of grime. Until Anala flicked her in the head, that is -- then she swallowed before she spoke, and shouted the required response. Her skull buzzed painfully like a rung bell for many minutes after.
"Just think. This could have all been yours, if your mom wasn't so fucking dumb." Anala was talking to Julie, Sheila realized, though the younger girl didn't pause in her worship for a second. "Do you know why you're my slave, ladybug? Because your mom's got a thing for Maa's feet. She wants to be her slave, even! Isn't that the stupidest crap you've ever heard?"
Anala burst into laughter. Sheila couldn't stand the sound, or the words that lingered in the air; she buried her face in the youth's fragrant flesh, and licked.
It struck Sheila as odd that she wasn't angrier with Lakshmi for revealing her kinks to her family, but what did it matter? Her fantasies, when translated into reality, were nightmares. A terrible dream she couldn't escape. It was of no significance what any of them thought of her -- even Julie. She couldn't help the girl, not directly. All that mattered was she served; if she was a good bug, maybe neither of them would end up a juicy stain, like Lyla had for her disobedience.
###
In her most courageous or depleted moments, Sheila dreamed of escape.
It was an easily defeated notion when she was in Lakshmi's home. Where was there to run? Without the scraps given to her or dropped carelessly by the giants, she would starve. If she was found, she would be crushed. At her size, outside of Lakshmi's home, where a bird or even a bug could end her, surviving long enough to find anything resembling help seemed an impossibility -- to think about it was to plan a journey to another galaxy. No, there was no escape from Lakshmi.
A terrible truth dawned on the imprisoned soul. Even though Sheila wanted to believe that any alternative was preferable to serving her cruel mistress, the thought of dying -- the very real prospect of a certainly awful end -- terrified Sheila to the bone. Suffering as Lakshmi's slave allowed her to cling to a dim hope that her situation might change for the better.
A chance at such a change -- and freedom -- presented itself one time, while the secretly wealthy maid cleaned the familiar-but-alien home of a family which was of the same socioeconomic class Sheila used to inhabit. She was left to her duty in Lakshmi's dank sneaker, and saw the homeowner, a woman, in glimpses when the titan's huge feet slapped close to the shoe. Curvy, white, and pale blond -- similar to Sheila.
Deep inside of her a force urged her to take a risk for her liberation. To scale the worn, fuzzy wall leading up to the mouth of Lakshmi's sneaker, and get the homeowner's attention. Yet another piece of her, growing larger, pushed for surrender, so that her already hellish situation didn't get any worse. And how could she know whether the woman stomping around outside the shoe was any better than Lakshmi? Unbidden, images of the giant homeowner laughing at her while wiggling her toes on top of her filled Sheila's mind and wouldn't leave.
The wind abandoned Sheila's sails and she slumped to her knees.
Then, as always, she licked the ground that was so totally marked by Lakshmi's foot.
###
Lakshmi held up Sheila with one hand, her other gripping the steering wheel. The rumble of stalled traffic and cacophony of groaning car horns was a storm-like din outside the sedan's interior as the giant shouted at her.
"We are your goddesses. You don't just say, 'Yes, Goddess Lakshmi!' you will say, 'Thank you, Goddess Lakshmi!' For everything! And you'll say it with a big happy smile on your face, and respect in your voice, or I will replace you. Do you understand, slave? I will get a new you."
Sheila nervously glanced down at Julie's tiny form in Anala's huge lap. Lakshmi had just picked up her daughter from a soccer game, and the girl's sharp sweaty musk turned acrid in the air conditioning. Julie looked savagely beaten, and shivered in a ball. Sheila was uncontrollably horrified by the sight and, Anala, a grin on her face, plucked up the girl and shook Sheila's daughter like a ragdoll in her face. Anala called her "my good luck charm" over and over in sugared sing-song.
Then Sheila's vision swung back toward Lakshmi's glaring eyes as her owner continued talking. "What is it with you bored white housewives? I swear every white woman I work for secretly wants to be under my feet. I had no idea until I met you. Then I learned you weren't special. You might not even be the dumbest of the bunch, but you're close."
Anala's hand came up beside her mother's. As Sheila gaped, Julie struggled to push herself up with her arms so that she could kiss the tips of Anala's fingers as they curled over her. Face caked with grit, Julie croaked through cracked lips, "Thank you, Goddess Anala," after each peck.
"You see?" Back to Lakshmi once more: the giant's angular ferocity was more refined than ever -- a sign of the expensive oils and washes she cleansed her face with now. "What kind of fool are you, to sign away everything you've worked for? To sign away your family? And for what?" Lakshmi sneered. "Is it everything you dreamed it would be, bug? Are you enjoying life as my slave? Do you still love my feet, you pathetic freak?"
You did this to me, Sheila wanted to scream, but she couldn't. Her head dropped as if Lakshmi's words physically struck her, and tears traced glistening lines down her cheeks. She looked over toward Julie, only to find Anala's bulk in motion. Sheila watched with growing terror how the grinning giant fed Julie's small, battered form into the mouth of her soccer cleat. Julie whimpered, trying to hold back her own tears, and for the first moment in a long while, a mother and daughter looked into one another's eyes: one hoping to save, the other hoping to be saved, both knowing it was hopeless.
"What are you," Sheila began. She stopped. Then: "Please. Goddess Anala. Goddess Lakshmi! She's. Please." Sheila couldn't string more than a word or two together before she feared uttering heresy in the presence of her chuckling deities. Anala forced her bare foot into her cleats, and Julie was once more lost to the world; underfoot, out of sight, out of mind -- save for Sheila's.
"Anala, get this slave out of my sight. I'm too disgusted to even look at her."
"Come here, little white bitch," Anala quipped in Lakshmi's tone, and she pinched Sheila and lowered the hysterical woman down toward the opening of her other shoe. All at once Sheila was gazing up at Anala, a bug's view, as the gleeful and cruel younger woman brought her reddened foot down. Her slick, wiggling toes cut off Sheila's light and air as they entered the cleat.
"That's my daughter!" Sheila screamed in the fetid dark, vocal chords pained with the effort. "That's my daughter, you monsters!"
There was no response, save for the uncaring, rough weight all over her naked body from Anala's scrunching, boulder-like digits. Sheila fought against them for as long as she was physically able, until her whole body failed, falling limp. Anala's toes didn't stop. Before long, in the stink and the suffocating heat, her body tender and bruised, Sheila completely gave in, mewling in despair as she licked Anala's hot, sweaty toes so that they would stop beating her.
###
Sheila needed an "attitude adjustment," Lakshmi had declared as she bound the woman's nudity painfully tight with floss.
Now Sheila dangled on the inside of a dingy toilet bowl, as spacious as an arena. Her daughter, similarly wrapped with twine, hanged across the way. Julie didn't respond no matter what Sheila called to her. No amount of pleading would get her to even look at her mother, save for the rare glare.
Sheila only had so long to beseech her daughter before a pall stretched over the basin, and Fatima's cackling filled the sky above. Malicious glee stretched the old woman's features; the giant turned and hiked her robes up to her waist. Fatima lowered her dimpled, doughy cheeks down toward the toilet seat and settled with a content, rumbling sigh. All the light in the bowl was blocked out by her plump rear, though Sheila's eyes quickly adjusted, and she gazed fearfully at Fatima's curving ass, and the shape of her monstrous, bulging sex in the dark.
There came a hissing whine, almost comical if not for the foul stench it was accompanied by. A hot blast shook Sheila's dangling form; the force noisily disturbed the water below. With horror and humiliation Sheila realized what had just happened, choking on the must as the regal crone squawked and gassed them once more. Then Fatima started pissing.
The first drops of Fatima's piss splashed into the bowl. Then the trickle became rain. Sheila turned her head and scrunched up her face, but broiling droplets from above and cold sprays from the churning water below peppered her bound body. She could just make out Julie screaming across the way over the rushing liquid. Fatima's urine dribbled from her folds like a waterfall, and the noise bounced around the basin, almost deafening. After a few more spurts, Fatima wiped herself, and with a pleased laugh lifted herself from the toilet seat. And then she was gone, and once more Julie and Sheila were left alone; this time, Julie glared at her mother and didn't look away.
Time passed cruelly slow as Sheila and Julie hanged there, dripping. Vague sounds reached them from the world beyond, but it was hard to think about what the noises could be -- or even anything at all -- with the pungent tang of Fatima's urine filling every breath. When the bathroom door creaked open what must have been hours later, a horrible relief welled up in Sheila, and then instantly vanished as Lakshmi's grinning visage appeared in the sky. She wasn't expecting salvation, not really. But an approaching giant was a welcome diversion from the palpable, intense dislike that radiated from Julie, and could mean an end to their torture, should Lakshmi be satisfied.
The giant woman bent over and, with a scissor-snip, Julie screamed as she fell and smacked against the porcelain below. A streak of red from the girl's face stained the white as Julie slid into the lake of piss. Sheila glanced upward from swift reflex, pleadingly, in panic, only to see Lakshmi's cruel brown eyes gazing back, and then came another metallic screech.
Sheila tumbled downward and her legs snapped loudly on the curving ceramic. With horror she wondered if her limbs had broken; they hurt in a way that felt wrong. Like a worm, she had no arms or legs to aid her, bound as she was. She couldn't stop herself from skidding downward into Fatima's stale urine. She rolled into the morass and tried her best to float on her back, spitting out a mouthful of bitter, fruity piss.
With red irritated eyes Sheila watched as the light above was eclipsed by Lakshmi's russet brown posterior; Sheila gazed into the puckered eye of Lakshmi's anus. The colossal woman's chuckle echoed throughout the bowl, and then a hissing jet of scalding air disturbed the water all around the shrunken mother. Sheila bounced off of Julie as the two bobbed aimlessly, futilely attempting to remain upright -- though it was now far more unpleasant to breathe the air, as nasty as it was to be face-down in piss. Each time Sheila was able to orient herself on her back, the vision she was faced with only got worse: up above, Lakshmi's fingers pressed into the thick folds of her sex. Her fingers rubbed at herself, brushing against her clit; then her appendages pulled outward into a v-shape, spreading her lips.
"Goddess Lakshmi, no!" Sheila screamed, only to be silenced and drowned by a concentrated stream of the woman's piss.
Sheila bobbed violently like a raft helplessly tossed by rapids. It was impossible to keep the urine from entering her mouth; it was a struggle to keep from swallowing it. The woman knocked painfully into her daughter in the deluge, which seemed as if it might never end. Then like a sudden summer shower it ceased, save for a few last drops and spurts from Lakshmi. But a sound like rocks sliding against one another drew Sheila's attention to yet another horror: the knobby cap of a piece of shit was sliding wetly out of Lakshmi's expanding anus. Water currents, stirred by Lakshmi's fluids, guided Sheila directly under the hanging log of waste, tempting as a bullseye.
Sheila's eyes widened, pried open by abject dread. This is how I die, she thought.
The shit curled as it pushed from Lakshmi's asshole, and then it broke off and plummeted, freefalling. For a disconnected moment Sheila was like a cartoon character watching a piano come down. Then reality returned in a shock: mortal fear gripped her the moment before impact, and she braced, body and mind seizing. The powerless woman was sloppily whacked by the tube and forced under the fizzing drink. Shit molded over Sheila's body like hot and thick clay, and every atom that composed her shook with panic as she tried to escape underneath it, holding her breath.
The stillness inside of Sheila's throat and lungs quickly became unbearable; the packed filth was impossibly heavy on top of her -- more so as moments passed; she squirmed, and she fought, and she wiggled, but the mound didn't budge. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to
Water rushed in across Sheila's back and into the crags; she was ripped from her fecal encasement by the surge and bobbed up to the surface like a stubborn buoy rising once more out of storming waves. Sound, thundering, pounded her ears. She vomited, and gasped, and threw up more, and choked on the nauseous environment. In one small mercy, she beached, leaving her heaving on the hard ceramic shore in a typhoon of piss and shit as the titan relieved herself.
She knew she should flip herself over to check if Julie was safe, but she just didn't have it in her. Sheila was emptied out. The stench was unreal. The air was toxic in her lungs, and her body was wholly soiled. Numb, Sheila listened to the horrendous rumbling of Lakshmi's movement. She forced herself to breathe. She sometimes sobbed, and sometimes simply stared away the moments, wanting so much for it to end that she was left paralyzed.
When Lakshmi finished, she left without looking, or flushing, or pulling the tiny women out of their reeking hell.
Giantess World
Chapter End Notes:
thanks for reading!