Steve was like any normal IT guy. He was in his mid-20s, he had a passion for computers, and he was usually on-call to help morons fix their PCs. Though there was one thing that separated him from others in his field: he was only a foot tall.
His proportions were normal, and he looked like any average, white, black-haired man; he was just a lot shorter than other people, barely coming up to most people's shins. His size did give him somewhat of an advantage though. Since he was so small, his hands could perform much more precise operations than other IT professionals, so in theory, his skills should be in high demand.
However, his size was also a pretty big disadvantage, as no one seemed to take him seriously. Even when he showed how skilled he was with computers, all anyone could see was his tiny size, so finding a job was much harder than it should have been. Over time, he developed a bit of a complex, so any time his size was brought up or he was reminded of his diminutive stature, he got very frustrated.
He eventually found work with a pretty large IT company, but he was merely the tech support person, as that was all they were willing to give him. At first, he figured that if he kept at it and showed everyone what he could do, he would soon rise through the ranks and earn the respect he deserved. But after a year of working the same, dead-end job, he realized no one really paid him any attention at all, rarely even checking up on him to see if he was keeping up on his daily tasks. At least the job itself paid well enough, so he took that as a tiny consolation.
Today started like any other day. At 9 AM, he turned on his personal computer, which was scaled down for his size, and looked at any of the calls that had come in overnight. He expected the page to fill up with assignments, but only one was on the page. He looked at the location of the job and saw that it was for a local high school. It seemed normal enough, so without looking at any of the other details, he got changed, packed up his gear, and headed out to his car, which had customized seats, pedals, and a smaller wheel to accommodate him.
The drive there was fairly uneventful, aside from a few people cutting him off. Once he got to the school, a bunch of painful memories came flooding back to him. School for him was less than stellar, at least for the few years he was actually in public school. Elementary school, while not as bad as middle school, was still pretty hard to get through. Because of his size, he couldn't play with other kids without getting hurt, so he spent a lot of time inside during recess, which predictably made the kids see him as an outcast, teacher's pet, etc. That reputation carried over into middle school, where everyone else kept growing, but he capped out at 1 foot. Bullies immediately took advantage of that. It felt like he spent more time in lockers than in the classrooms, constantly being put in there by those hot-headed morons. Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore, and he finally went to his parents and begged to be homeschooled.
Life after school was at least a little easier, with him being able to get his college degree mostly online so he could avoid dealing with other students. Also, he definitely wasn't alone anymore. He had a couple of friends that he hung out with who barely brought up his size, and even when they did, it was all in good fun. So while he still cursed his size every day, his life wasn't nearly as unbearable as it used to be.
It was still quite annoying sometimes though, which was especially true right now, as he couldn't even open the front door to the school. He couldn't reach the buzzer either, so he was forced to call the front office to let him in. Begrudgingly, he took out his cell phone and dialed the number for the school. Once he heard the receptionist greet him, he began to talk.
"Hey, I'm Steve, the IT guy that the school called earlier," he said.
"Oh hi, um... the door is unlocked, you can come in!" the receptionist said in a forced, excited tone.
"Yeah, that's the thing, I can't open the door, can you or someone else come to let me in?" Steve replied.
"Oh sure, no problem!" she said, immediately hanging up on him, presumably so she could run outside to greet him. It occurred to him that he was right in front of the door and she didn't know he was only a foot tall, so he quickly took a few steps back. He soon found out how good a move that was, because the door slammed open, with a woman who seemed to be in her late 20s standing in the doorway.
She was dressed fairly modestly, wearing a white dress shirt and a pencil skirt which went down to her knees. Her high heels clacked against the pavement of the entryway. As she looked around for Steve, her flowing, brown hair swayed with each twist of her neck. Noticeably confused, she began to call out for Steve.
"Sir, where are you?" she yelled. After chuckling a bit at being called sir, he spoke up.
"I'm down here, ma'am," he said, keeping it formal to reciprocate her demeanor towards him. Though right when she looked down at him, her behavior changed completely, and she stared at him as one stares at a kitten. He was used to this stare by now, so he was completely stone-faced while his small stature was admired.
"Oh my God, you're so cute!" she yelled. She squatted down, her body still looming over him and kept staring at him with sparkles in her eyes. She began to reach forward instinctively, wanting to hold and cuddle him like a stuffed animal, but she stopped herself, remembering she was talking to a person and her job required her to not be physical with visitors. She cleared her throat and regained most of her composure.
"So um...whose computer are you here to fix?" she asked, trying to change the subject. Steve opened his mouth to speak, but then he remembered that he didn't actually look at the job details that closely, so he was completely at a loss for words. Blushing a bit from embarrassment, he held a finger up to the receptionist and took out his phone, scrolling through it to find out who he was there for. After a minute or so, he found the name, and his face went completely white.
Mrs. Taylor was just Ms. Taylor when he met her in middle school. She was in the same grade as him, and at the time, he had a serious crush on her. So much so that on the last day of school, he asked her out on a date. He had a feeling he would not be coming back to public school next year, so he figured he didn't have much to lose in asking. She said no and let him down easy, but her friends... not so much. They all laughed right in his face, loudly enough where almost everyone in the cafeteria could hear it. Mortified, he slowly walked back to his seat and ate his lunch in silence. To make matters worse, over the next few months her friends continuously harassed him on social media, calling him every variation of "shorty" they could think of and making tons of jokes about something else on him being tiny as well.
Luckily, they eventually left him alone and obsessed over something else. Steve had mostly pushed them out of his memory, except now it all came flooding back to him. He took a deep breath and tried remembering that those girls are not who he's here to see, he was here to help Mrs. Taylor. Despite being able to psych himself back up, he still worried about whether or not she remembered him or what happened. He would probably find out sooner or later, so he pushed that out of his mind and brought his attention back to the receptionist, who was still staring at him with immeasurable curiosity.
"Um... it's Mrs. Taylor," he said somewhat softly. The receptionist's eyes lit up, and she responded with:
"Oh yeah! She did say she was having some problems with her computer! You're super lucky since her room is only a couple doors down from the office!" Steve was glad about that since that meant it wouldn't be a long walk for him. As for the receptionist, she still desperately wanted to hold him, so she tried sneaking in a request before he walked inside.
"If you want, I can carry you down to her room! I'm sure at your size your feet must get tired a lot!" she said enthusiastically. He wanted to aggressively say no and tell her that he's not a child and can walk down the hallway by himself, but he didn't want to get off on the wrong foot with her, especially if he had to come back to the school again. He cleared his throat and politely replied:
"You don't have to do tha--" He was then cut off by the receptionist kneeling down and scooping him up in her palm. Before he could tell her off, she stated:
"Please, I insist." Trying not to offend her or look too annoyed, his face went neutral and he begrudgingly nodded. The receptionist smiled and stood up, lifting Steve up into the air. With him in tow, she walked towards Mrs. Taylor's room, with Steve wanting to roll his eyes the whole way there.
It ended up being a good thing she came with Steve since she had to open the door to her room for him. After the door flew open, the receptionist let Steve off her palm and loomed over him as she stood up. Satisfied that she could hold him like she wanted, she playfully said:
"Lemme know if you need anything else." Steve's expression didn't change, and he merely responded with a thumbs up. The receptionist then left the room, but not without blowing a kiss to Steve before departing. Now that he was alone, he breathed deeply and forcefully, very annoyed with what he just went through. After calming himself down, he walked over to Mrs. Taylor's desk, ready to do the job and leave as soon as possible.
He did a quick scan of her desk, and noticed a makeshift sign taped to the front of her desk that said: "Out to Lunch." He felt very relieved, as he didn't want to talk to her for obvious reasons. After he was done, he made his way underneath her desk, which was where her computer was. On the floor in front of it, he noticed a well-cushioned footrest. He assumed she must walk around a lot and needed it to soothe her muscles, which he completely understood. However, it teadwas in his way, so he moved it away from the computer and left it in the back corner of the desk.
Now that he wasn't being blocked, he got to work examining her computer. He ended up finding the problem almost immediately, as he noticed that her power supply was disconnected for some reason. He wondered for a second what that reason was, but he wasn't paid enough for that. Instead, he quickly reached inside the system unit and reconnected it before walking over to the power button to make sure everything was running smoothly. Though right as he did that, Mrs. Taylor entered the room, and Steve's jaw hit the floor.
He hadn't seen her since middle school, so he had no idea what to expect when he saw her. She had become quite a beautiful woman in many respects. Her body, while skinny, was still curvy in all the right places, and that was accentuated by her blouse and skirt which hugged her body tightly. Her brown, curly hair was long and extended below her shoulders, and it was clear that she put a lot of effort into it. Finally, she was wearing stylish tennis shoes, which initially seemed to clash with her attire until he realized that she had just gotten back from the gym, so her skin was subtly glistening with sweat. It took Steve a few seconds to realize he was staring at her for too long, and he looked back at the computer, which was still booting up.
While he was doing that, her shoes came flying right by him, crashing into the walls of the desk with a loud thud. He was about to yell at her for almost throwing them right at him, but before he could do that, she sat down at the desk and her feet swung under it, knocking him over so his body laid perpendicularly to her feet. Once he recovered from that harrowing experience, he looked up and noticed her foot rapidly descending towards him. Intimidated by the sight before him, he completely froze and watched as her foot collided with his body, the sight and smell of it growing stronger the closer it got. When the dust had settled, her foot was resting right on his face, his lower body free for the time being.
He didn't notice it at first, but her feet were very sweaty on top of smelling really bad, likely due to the fact that she had just come from the gym. He knew some guys were into feet, but he was not one of them, so this was less than enjoyable for him. It wasn't bad enough that he felt nauseous, but it was definitely a strong smell, one that would surely be burned into his memory for quite a while. Since her foot wasn't smothering him, he could still breathe and hear everything going on around him, so he was able to listen as Mrs. Taylor called the front office about her computer.
Despite his ability to hear, he was very distracted by the foot bearing down on him, so he only picked up a few words. He heard "computer working" and "thank the IT guy" before she hung up, leading him to the conclusion that she thought he already left and couldn't feel him beneath her foot. Before he could wiggle his lower body to let her know he was there, her other foot slammed down on it, completely pinning him to the floor and rendering him helpless to do anything in the face of her feet.
Speaking of his face, the foot on it was much more playful than the other one, frequently rubbing his face and smearing sweat and debris all over it. He would definitely need a shower later, he angrily thought to himself. Another thought that crossed his mind was how her feet didn't move off of him once so far, which he found weird considering he had been under them for a couple of minutes (from his perspective at least). Suddenly, he realized that he was laying right where her footrest was before he moved it, and everything clicked for him. He would facepalm himself if his body wasn't currently being immobilized by giant feet. He would eventually come to the realization that she was exhausted from her workout, which would explain the fact that her feet would be pinning him to the floor the entire day.
Out of nowhere, he heard what sounded like a stampede, which happened to be her students rushing into the classroom. At first, he was relieved since she would probably stand up to teach them, but as the minutes passed by, that moment never came, and he began to resign himself to being beneath her feet for as long as she wanted. On top of that, sometimes her other foot would remove itself from his lower body to assault his face as well. On many occasions, he doubted whether or not she actually knew he was there. Either possibility wouldn't surprise him in the slightest.
As for what happened during the day, he became well-acquainted with every single part of her feet, whether he liked it or not. Steve definitely did not; in fact, he grew to hate it more and more with every passing second. So, while Mrs. Taylor taught the class, she unintentionally tortured him for hours on end, and her feet constantly found new and creative ways to do so.
One of her foot's favorite ways of toying with him was using her toes, and when they were involved, they never left his face for a second. Each toe toyed with it in a distinct way, taking turns as if they were trying to be polite with each other. Her big toe was the most forceful of the lot, mashing Steve's face as much as possible. It was also forceful in the sense that it forced its way into his mouth and onto his nose very frequently, making Steve endure the strong taste of her skin. Her 2nd and 3rd toes lacked the power of the big toe, but they made up for it in enthusiasm. They worked together to make Steve's life a living hell, assaulting his mouth and nose at the same time in perfect synchronization. Her 4th toe did more of the same, just without the teamwork the 2nd and 3rd toes demonstrated. Finally, her pinky toe, having neither power nor much range of motion, had to rely on its enthusiasm and the strength of Mrs. Taylor's entire foot to have any effect on its plaything. Whenever the pinky toe was involved, Steve noticed the entirety of her foot moving back and forth to help out its little buddy, a fact he might find endearing if he wasn't so unbelievably miserable.
Once her toes became bored, Mrs. Taylor moved onto the ball of her foot, which was another beast entirely. It easily dwarfed his face, encompassing the entirety of it and smothering Steve relentlessly. On top of rubbing his face into submission, it frequently deprived him of oxygen, forcing him to try and find any moment to breathe that he could. Whenever he did this, he was assaulted both with the taste and smell of Mrs. Taylor's foot, which made even the simple act of breathing a chore for him. While the ball of her foot was on top of him, he longed for the times when her toes would play with him. Not that they were pleasant, far from it, he just appreciated the fact that he could actually breathe when they were around.
Eventually, Mrs. Taylor moved her foot forward a bit more, meaning that the arch of her foot was right on top of his face. Steve wondered for a moment if she subconsciously realized that her footrest felt different, and that that was the reason she was being so methodical in her assault on his senses. Though he was quickly distracted by her using her arch to knead his face back and forth like dough, frequently causing his neck to twist from the force behind her kneading (when Steve wasn't trying desperately to find room to breathe, that is). Though when his neck wasn't twisted, her kneading forced his mouth open, making him taste her foot yet again. He wasn't sure which part of her foot tasted worse, and he hated the fact that he was in a situation where that thought could cross his mind.
Finally, Mrs. Taylor planted her heel on his face, and it stayed there for quite some time. The hardness of her heel was immediately apparent, and it was uncomfortable to say the least. On top of that, Mrs. Taylor's heel must have been itchy, and Steve wasn't sure if he was to blame for that. Regardless of the reason, he was used as her means to alleviate that itch, and his face bore the brunt of it. As she used his face to scratch her heel, Steve's every sense was attacked by her foot, only with much more force than before. His face was rubbed into complete submission, with the smell and taste of her foot constantly forced into his battered nose and mouth. To make matters worse, he must have been quite effective at his "job," since Mrs. Taylor spent an inordinate amount of time using him to scratch her heel.
When that was finally done, her foot retreated, and for a second, Steve had hope that he could escape his predicament. He tried to lift himself up off the ground, but not only was her other foot still on top of him, but he was much too exhausted to make any sudden movements. All he could do was pray that her foot wouldn't return. He was half-right.
Her other foot, which had been pinning his lower body, slid over to his face, and proceeded to toy with him in the exact same fashion as before. If Steve wasn't cursing his tiny size before, he certainly was now, as he was completely powerless to do anything. Her other foot, with no resistance whatsoever, went about the same method of torture, moving from its toes, to the ball, to the arch, and finally the heel. Aside from some minor differences in strength and technique, her other foot played with him in the exact same way, with an almost eerie similarity to the first foot. By the time she was done with the other foot, to Steve, it seemed like hours had passed. To the rest of the world, it was only 20 minutes.
Over the remainder of Mrs. Taylor's 6-hour day, her feet only got more wild and playful. They no longer used the same methodical approach as before, electing instead to be as chaotic as possible. Steve would have her toes on his face, then her heel, then her arch, then her toes, and so on, with each pattern differing from the last. Sometimes, she would use both feet on his face at once, which Steve hated most of all. This usually took the form of multiple toes playing with his face at once, with one foot holding his mouth open and inserting one of its toes, and the other rubbing his forehead or nose (the former of which he greatly preferred, for obvious reasons).
His sense of smell, taste, and touch were constantly assaulted, but so were his other senses in more muted ways. With the way her toes wiggled and squeezed, he was constantly subjected to the squishing sound of her moist flesh. At the very least, he could tune that sound out, but it was much harder to avoid looking at her feet. He kept his eyes closed for the majority of his captivity, but at random points, her foot would rub his face in such a way that his eyes were pried open, and he was forced to look at her dirty feet. He could see sweat, pieces of debris, and grime covering many parts of her foot, and whenever he saw that, he tried as hard as he could to close his eyes immediately, the image burned into his memory regardless of his efforts.
By the time that the school day was over, Steve was a changed man. He had gone through a lot of despair halfway through the day, so after hitting rock bottom, he bounced back up and started to appreciate some of the other parts of his life. He had friends that liked him, he had a stable (if sometimes unbearable) job, and there were rare benefits to his size, such as being able to squeeze into tight spaces and having every TV he's ever seen be like a movie screen to him. The only thing that definitely changed for the worse was his opinion on feet. He was apathetic about them before, but now he had a deep, burning hatred for them.
Once the final student left, Mrs. Taylor mercifully took her feet off of Steve, used them to pull her shoes out from under the desk, and stood up, stretching and feeling unexpectedly better than usual. She figured it was because of how effective her footrest was, and she congratulated herself on such a good purchase. Once she put her shoes back on, she picked up her stuff and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. Steve, finally able to get up, sat up and looked at his mangled form. He was covered head to toe in sweat and grime, evidently cleaning Mrs. Taylor's feet while they were pleasing themselves with him. The taste of her feet was practically burned onto his taste buds, and he could still smell her feet as if they were still on him. He would definitely need a shower, or 20, when he got home, he thought to himself.
Then he looked around and noticed that the door was closed, blocking his only exit. Panicking that he would be stuck here all night, he then remembered he had his cell phone on him and could call the front desk to let him out. The receptionist would probably be surprised he was still there, and would have a lot to say about his current appearance, but he was past caring about that. He took out his phone and upon looking at the mountain of notifications he had received, he noticed the lack of other jobs for today, which explained why the IT company never checked in on him. He then dialed the front desk, and told them to let him out. After a quick back-and-forth with the receptionist, with her expectedly curious why he was still there, he harshly demanded her to open the door, followed quickly by the sound of the line cutting off.
He thought at first that he had offended her (or that she didn't believe him), so he started thinking about other options. Fortunately, he soon heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and within seconds, the door swung open, with the receptionist standing in the doorway. While she looked around for him, he emerged from under the desk, prompting her to stare at him wide-eyed with her mouth agape. As he walked towards the doorway, her eyes were glued to him, and a few words finally escaped her mouth.
"What happened?" she asked, with a combination of worry and confusion. Passing right by her and not even looking at her once, he simply replied as he went down the hall:
Steve was like any normal IT guy. He was in his mid-20s, he had a passion for computers, and he was usually on-call to help morons fix their PCs. Though there was one thing that separated him from others in his field: he was only a foot tall.