You climb out of your beat-up Toyota, staring at The Pizza Palace, snuggled between a Dollar store and a quiet nail salon. Taking a small but confident breath of fresh air, you take in the scenery of this neighborhood plaza and admire what might be the rest of your life.

You are a recent college graduate, a title that doesn’t hold much value since actual job positions require higher education. You chose to become a Psych major because it looked fun, like training to become a real-life mind reader.

Yet, when you came to realize that the workload was actual work, you started to lose interest in the field, and barely managed to leave with a certified paper. 

There was one semester when your biggest scholarship abandoned you, and with no money or patience to wait for the other grants, you panicked and pulled out a loan, and had a lot more to spend on food and video games.

Now, school was over, and you still had to pay off the loan. Just 1000 dollars short, and with no jobs focused on psychology around your area, the best you could do was become a driver at America’s favorite Pizza shop.

The area was pretty decent and not too far from home. You know your way around town and knew that the possibility of getting mugged or jumped was low. 

As you walked towards the small store, you took short glances at your future clientele. These suburbs were run by minorities, primarily middle-class Hispanics and blacks who just needed to get their things and go, always in a hurry to be someplace better.

You step inside the store, activating the door chime. Right away, a petite blond girl, no older than 30, comes out the back with a grey jacket and purple cap with the company’s logo.

“Welcome to the Pizza Palace, how can I help you?” Her tone was robotic and bored as hell. Through her black eyeliner, you could see the jaded look of a woman who could care less about helping, but that wasn’t going to ruin your eager smile. At least, not during the interview process.

“Hi,” You said, “I’m here for the driver’s position.”

The woman perked up a bit. “Oh, cool. Jorge, right?” You nodded. “Cool, cool, my name is Stacy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Stacy.” You say.

“Same. If you wanna follow me back, we can get this started. There’s not much to discuss, but I just want to get to know you a little better, and answer some questions if you have any.”

“Sounds good.” You follow Stacy’s lead as she goes through the door and presents the magic of a Pizza shop. Everything was pretty sterile and chrome, except for the floor which was just slightly messy with discarded toppings and footprints tracked from outside.

Stacy led you to the main computer hub, which sat in the corner of the room away from the cooking station and stacks of pizza boxes. 

“Sorry for the mess,” Stacy said as she was shuffling around paperwork and blowing away eraser shavings. “One of our shift leaders, Denise, doesn’t clean after herself too much, especially when she runs the late shift.”

“That’s fine, I don’t mind.”

Stacy chuckled. “You say that now, but wait until you meet her. She can be a real handful.”

“Oh.” You pass a quiet laugh, inaudible to anyone. While Stacy focuses on organizing their only desk, you wait patiently and watch her work. 

She’s incredibly cute, especially with the golden ponytail hanging from her work cap. She had a slim figure; so slim that her jacket could almost act as her blanket. She was wearing long khakis and a pair of dirty white Nikes. Just based on their weariness, these must’ve been her work shoes for years, probably even before she started working here.

“All right,” Stacy said. She took her seat on the black, office chair, scooting closer to have her knees buckled under the desk. She turned to you with a smile. “I’m so sorry, Jorge, I know I said I was gonna get you out soon, but I gotta find your file real quick, and working through this slow-ass computer is gonna make it long.”

“Oh, please, it’s not a problem.” You smiled. 

She smiled back. “You’re so nice, I’m gonna like you. Give me one sec.”

“Okay.” You wait in your seat and watch as Stacy focuses on getting your file. You noticed right away why she was the store manager: she had an intense focus on everything she does and likes to keep her space in order. Can’t be easy sharing this mini desk with other people, especially if they aren’t as dedicated as she is.

“Is it just you?” You ask, forcing yourself to make small talk and noticing how quiet the place is.

“Nope, but the mornings are always quiet, especially on weekdays. One of our drivers, Alex, is currently on a double delivery, so maybe you’ll see if this computer doesn’t get a move on!”

She continues to get the file open, and you patiently look around the room to get a feel for your work environment. The air was constantly chilly, the place smells greasy, and you could tell that it was gonna be easy work.

Your ears picked up Stacy’s worn sneakers squeaking against the floor as she was using one shoe to pry off the other. From your point of view, you witnessed her black, socked foot escape to free the other one from confinement.

You tried and keep your attention on the computer that struggled to cooperate, but your eyes couldn’t resist the unconscious action happening below. You were a closeted foot pervert, a candid watcher, and a lover of macrophilia. You couldn’t help what you liked, and spend most of your days daydreaming giantess content.

You wanted to make a good first impression, but when it came to your urges and fantasies, you needed to indulge them in any way you could.

Stacy’s socks were caked with sweat after a hefty morning running around this kitchen all day. Her shoes were releasing funky fumes that haven’t had a chance to air out in god knows how long.

You tried to keep your eyes up, but missing out on her ankles rubbing together was out of the question. All you could imagine was being small enough to accidentally be swept up in the action. Spending hours as her foot toy sounded like a dream, soaking up all the sweat and dirt collected from an honest work day, and then shoved back into a dirty shoe prison.

Complete heaven. 

You felt the boner growing in your pants, so you had to stop thinking and watching. You were wearing shorts, so the bulge would be recognizable as the girth of your big penis outlined your hidden perversions. Whatever feelings you were having, it could wait for later. Right now, you needed employment more than anything.

“Finally!” Stacy said looking satisfied at the computer. You quietly glanced down and watched her sweaty socks crawl back into their smelly prison. She looked at you with a warm smile. “Sorry for the wait. Hope it wasn’t too boring.”

“Nope.” You said with a smile. “Not at all.”

Not at all, indeed.