Garrick and Martin trudged through the roadless woods, crinkling through
the bushes and tree saplings. As cumbersome as it was, especially with their
laden rucksacks, there weren’t many alternatives when one was headed for Eron, the
massive peninsula jutting out of the continent of Gharn, uninhabited by humans.
As infamous as it was for its dangers, it was abundant with precious natural
resources, not a stranger to the brave scavengers who made the lucrative
ventures therein. And among them Garrick and Martin would be.
Garrick and Martin were mages, both twenty-two years of age, on the
younger end of those who scavenged Eron. It would be their first expedition.
Garrick had his brown hair tied into a tiny bun behind him, a tall and gangly
stature, while Martin was shorter with a round face and close-cropped hair.
They both wore brown jackets and breeches with ankle-high leather boots,
striking a balance between durable and agile.
“Imagine a good, first score,” Garrick said, a small clearing allowing
his attention to drift to the skies. “A pound of glowshrooms is worth three
horses, you know, and glowshrooms are the easier pickings in Eron.”
“I know.” Martin held out a cautionary palm. “Though I’d like not to
think about it yet. It’s dangerous. The forest of the giant pixies is first at
the southeastern border, and they saw that whenever a scavenger gets picked by
the pixies, they’re never seen again.”
“Alright, buddy, we don’t need the horror stories.”
“Not sure if it’s a horror.” Martin wore a smug smile as he lumbered
onwards. “Pixies don’t kill you, they just enslave you. Lovely, winged, and
large naked ladies enslaving you, that’s a dream to some.”
Garrick looked at him askance. “And does this ‘some’ include you? I fear
you’ll go and cast yourself into their arms, when we’re supposed to sneak
through.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m joking.” Near a mountain range, the ground was
rarely level, and again the larch trees dipped down with a slope. About fifty
feet down, they saw the ledge of a basin, and to the waterfront they went.
A vast bank of grass spread before the water, prickled with weeds and
dandelions. A large waterfall crashed into the basin, pouring down the mountain
which, within the woods, had been shrouded by the packed larch trees. A
shoulder of the mountain stretched in around the basin, cupping the body of
water, and behind it a valley cut through the cliffs and into the mountains.
Near the shoulder of stone they settled, sparing their necks and backs from the
rucksacks. They ate a lunch of hoecakes and a handful of walnuts, washing it
down with a few gulps of cherry cordial.
Garrick patted the increasing emptiness of their rucksacks. “Imagine
these being filled with crystal flowers and glowshrooms on the way back.”
Martin shook his head. “Save the celebrations for when we’ve got
something in our hands. The way we’re loitering about here, that’ll never work
in Eron. In fact, we should be focused right now. Before we left Drelten, I
caught some rumors at the local inn of humans disappearing around these
mountains.”
“They probably headed into Eron, where the dangers are known, and didn’t
return.”
Martin shrugged. “They weren’t scavengers, just ordinary people.”
“You’re in love with your creepy tales, aren’t you? Try focusing on not
daydreaming about pixies instead.” Garrick picked up his rucksack and informed
his friend of an area with shallower water ahead, where he’d seen fresh
watercress. Garrick went to pick some, bringing his rucksack with him.
There, a shallow pool stretched out like a wobbly finger from the basin,
and underneath it the fresh greens grew. As Garrick picked the watercress, he
couldn’t help but let his mind wander again. He and Martin came from families
that were farmers, barely making it through the years. Garrick’s father had
once told him that a man’s job is to provide, and provide he would. Their
families always wanted them to work in the farms, their dabbles in the arcane
never appreciated. Though now they’d use their perceived-to-be useless
competence to forage Eron, sell those valuable herbs, and surprise their
families. Garrick imagined the smile on his mother’s face; she deserved it for
all she’d given him and the little he’d returned.
Garrick had collected a hefty bundle of watercress he was satisfied
with. It would serve as a decent snack. He made his way back.
Just as he rounded a cluster of goldenrod bushes, for the first split
second Garrick believed he’d underestimated how large and imposing the
protruding arm of the mountain was. The next second, he saw the enormity for
what it was.
A giant.
Eighty foot tall, she wore a blue-gray robe reaching only the middle of
her thighs. She had a large frame, with a voluminous bosom, meaty thighs, and
toned calves. Her hair was a light brown, reaching her shoulder blades with the
frizzled look of having just woken up from bed. The lady had full lips, rich
brown eyes, and a pronounced jaw, certainly towards the mature end but not
having crested the middle-ages yet. Late thirties, Garrick surmised.
The lady was on her tiptoes, rounding the shoulder of the mountain. At
first Garrick wondered if she was shy or overly respectful, not wishing to
disturb Martin in his intense map-reading session by the bank. Though it was
peculiar how she raised her arms to evade the larch trees, her large, shapely
feet not allowing those deep arches and heels to touch the ground as only the
lanky toes and meaty balls padded the soil quietly. It was also peculiar how her
sneaky advance made straight for Martin, the eager eyes locked on him, the tip
of her tongue poking out between the lips in a mixture of focus and excitement.
The lead-up had the feel of someone sneaking up on a friend for a surprise. But
she was no friend. She was a stranger, and a large stranger at that. Despite
his suspicion, Garrick couldn’t find the moment where he was adamant on acting.
Once he knew something was wrong, it felt like it happened too fast.
The shadow of her left foot fell over Martin.
“Huh?” He turned up to see the richly wrinkled arch descend upon him.
Unlike her previous footsteps, this one lacked all the harmless stealth,
letting the whole left sole slam down upon him. A tremor took the ground, the
basin rippling, a few loose pebbles tumbling down the mountain and splashing
into the water. Her large, meaty foot had practically swallowed Martin up,
meeting no resistance. The giant stood on that one left leg, not putting the
other foot down, drilling her weight onto Martin through the pillar of pale,
ample flesh. Those round toes wriggled buoyantly, satisfied with their meal.
The lady clamped her hands together and brought them over her
collarbone, looking down like a girl would dote over a puppy. “I’ve got another
one.” She rubbed her hands together and closed her eyes, whispering gratitude
with a blissful smile. “Mommy’s got another slave.”
Another one? Slave? An impulse made Garrick twitch, about to step out
from the bush, to act, to save his friend. But he took in the sight before him,
the shapely foot which had promptly flattened his friend, the muscular, groping
toes, the meaty calf and thigh, the entire eighty-foot colossus before him, and
he wondered what would prevent him from ending up like his friend. Still
standing on the left foot, the right one came and stroked its counterpart,
commending it for its catch, or perhaps jealous, wishing it too could taste a
human of its own. No matter how mannered and reasonable Garrick would present
himself, he couldn’t put any trust in her reciprocating any of it. Garrick knew
that in the case of a confrontation, the risk of finding himself underneath the
other foot was high.
“Fuck,” he muttered. His inability to do anything was nothing short of a
disgrace, the words of his mother echoing in his head.
“How lucky can a girl get?” the lady said, her voice deep with a mature
richness. “A cute young man sits out here all alone, like a rabbit waiting
outside the fox’s den. It must be fate. He might turn out to be the best slave
yet.” She teetered from standing on one foot, planting the toes of her other
one on the bank enough to gain balance, but not enough to lighten the load on Martin.
There was time for Garrick to act, to snap out of the spell of indecisiveness
he found himself in. But he stood as rooted to this spot as the giant’s strong
foot was on his friend. Garrick couldn’t imagine what he’d accomplish by
confronting her.
At last, she put her weight on the right foot and kicked the left one
back, revealing Martin, helplessly plastered to the cushy sole. The foot had
gathered a sparse spread of dirt and splinters of bark and twigs and grass,
especially around the ball and heel and the bulbous underside of her toes. The
arch displayed her pale, creamy flesh in its purest form, and with his
shoulders and head against her ball, the rest of Martin’s body stretched down
across the arch. From toe to heel, the foot was slightly over twice his length,
comfortably covering him up.
With a playful couple of toe-flexes, she made him dance, Martin the
puppet and her digits the puppeteer holding the strings. She chuckled briefly,
biting her lower lip, one hand slipping in under the neckline of her robe and
groping her breast. As if someone there castigated her, she came to and slapped
herself lightly on the cheek. “Heavens, Liza, contain yourself.”
So her name was Liza, Garrick noted, and a surge of purpose welled up
within him, giving meaning to his inaction. He’d report this to the giant
guards; that would be his role.
Liza reached with her hand and pinched Martin’s shoe. As if her foot was
the banana and Martin the skin, she peeled him off, Martin’s body parting from
the sole with the deep crackle of ripping wallpaper. Martin hung from her hand
in a daze, muttering something incomprehensible.
Liza brought him up to her face to observe him. “Young men are the best additions.
I can’t have asked for any better.”
Martin came to with sudden attention, noticing his predicament. Liza’s
other hand closed around his torso. One of his arms were free, and he threw it
inattentively, a bolt of green magic discharging from his hand and soaring
right past her ear.
Liza’s head snapped back with a gasp. “A mage.” Her other hand rushed
forward to close over him, folding his other arm inside. “Let’s get those arms
in check. Mages are more resilient, but I’ll work you into shape. You’ll be
just like all the other slaves, in the end.” Adjusting to have both his arms
closed in one hand, Liza untied and parted her robe. She wore nothing
underneath, and Garrick watched in shock as she brought her hand down and aimed
Martin’s head at those large, pink lips.
“Garrick!” Martin shouted with a surge of panicked life, staring down
the mouth of those hungry lips. “Don’t come back! Get away from here!”
“He’s got fight in him.” Liza’s expression was glowing with excitement.
“They always do in the beginning.” She used his head to prod her lips apart,
and with a humble little nudge inserted him to the shoulders. Fingers on his
ankles, Liza thrust Martin straight inside, and from a tense neck to clenched
toes, the jolt of electric pleasure cut through her entire being. “Ah. I’m
addicted to this,” Liza whispered, beginning a gentle rhythm as she pulled him
in and out. But she cancelled it quickly with an impersonal insertion. “No,
Liza. Get a grip, not here.” She watched the surroundings with a newfound
attention, a sweep of her gaze which might have caught Garrick if he had
emerged from his bush too boldly. “He called for another one, a Garrick.
Perhaps his companion.”
Hearing his name from her mouth was like a spotlight cast straight upon
him, removing the goldenrod bush and his clothes, and for that second he may as
well have laid naked under her gaze. Garrick cooled down; his backpack and the
bundle of watercress was with him, and as Liza observed the waterside, he recognized
there were no signs of him left for her to find.
“Back home it is.” Liza patted her nethers through the robe. “With slave
number six.” Liza punted Martin’s backpack into the basin. Then she turned and rounded
the arm of the ridge she’d come from, heading into the valley cutting through
the mountains. The thud of her steps along the hurricane of whisking leaves as
the trees were shoved aside, it abated, until there was quiet.
Garrick had to report this to the guards. The disappearances were
well-known. Though he feared the errand would get washed away, as it currently
was. Something in Garrick’s gut didn’t sit right, to see his friend be
kidnapped before him and turn the other way. Garrick picked up his rucksack and
followed.
Liza’s footprints were pronounced through the bank and forest bed of the
valley, a good trail to pursue. Garrick didn’t expect to overcome her and
rescue his friend in a glorious blaze of heroism. There was no confrontation in
mind. He merely hoped to find her home, wherever she kept herself and this nasty
business, and return to the guards with a splendid report detailing the
culprit’s appearance, name, and whereabouts.
Garrick jogged, not activating his magics but not wishing to trail too
far behind either. “Slave,” he muttered. At first he’d been confused. The word
slave invited visions of enforced labor, that she’d kidnapped humans and made
them work. Though that never made sense, as one giant would make better labor
than hundreds of humans. Only mages would make sense, and she hadn’t known
Martin was a mage until after she’d ambushed him. The answer lay in her lewd
behavior. It gave the word slave its meaning in this context. She was a horny
psychopath.
Garrick kept his attention sharp, envisioning the map in his head and
preventing it from going foggy constant updates with every turn and course he
took down the valley, guided by her footprints. He arrived at a portion where
the two mountains bridged the valley overhead, like a chunky stone arch above
the valley. After coming out of its shadow, the prints on the ground suddenly
disappeared.
Garrick felt the presence behind him, her shadow growing over him, and
as he stared up and saw her excited face and the large sole flying down to meet
him, the thoughts raced through his head, how she’d taken cover behind the
mountainous arch of rock, snuck up behind him the way she’d snuck up on Martin,
how there hopefully was another observer to witness this, who hopefully
wouldn’t be dumb enough to repeat Garrick’s mistake.
Hopefully, something
would break the cycle, as Garrick saw the same thing Martin had by the water,
the enormous foot stomping down upon him.