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A woman with short brown hair and wearing a formal business blouse, jacket, and skirt entered the room.  In one hand she held a lit cigarette and in the other a half-filled glass mug of beer.  She might have been 5’3” in flats but she was wearing pumps with three-inch stiletto heels.  Her cheeks were rouged, and her bright red lipstick had stained the mug.

The woman took a seat and finished her smoke before the hostess returned with the trolley.  She didn’t stand or look at the box after the hostess opened it.  After the hostess had left, the customer finished her beer, then stood and crossed her arms, and finally looked down into the box.

She snorted in disdain then grabbed the box by the base and flipped it off the trolley.  The box came to rest on its side, and a jaked man rolled out onto the hardwood floor.  Hands on her hips, she slowly walked towards the tiny prostrate man.  Her thundering steps resonated through the floor, and the face-down man didn’t move.  She stopped, the points of her colossal shoes six inches from his head.

“Get up,” she barked.

He remained motionless.

“Get up,” she repeated.  “I know you’re faking.  If you don’t stand up I’ll stomp you into paste and get my money back.”

The man stirred, pushed himself up, then stood and looked up at the towering woman.  Marco was able to ID him as Nathan Derrick.

She immediately knocked Derrick on his ass with her toe, then hovered the ball of her foot over his chest, pivoting on her heel.

“Disobey me again, bug, and you will regret it,” she said.  “Count on it.”  Her pump descended and he put up his hands, absurdly trying to fend her off.  His face turned red as the pressure on his chest increased, but she relented before cracking any ribs.

She walked to the table, the sharp clicks of her heels echoing ominously.  She reached into her purse and pulled on a pair of latex gloves, pausing dramatically for each snap.

Derrick looked around, noting a possible sanctuary under the bed.  He started to step back in that direction, but her peripheral vision caught it.

“Don’t even think it,” she warned.  He froze.

She turned and looked at the three-inch-tall man in the middle of the floor.  She walked deliberately, swinging her titanic legs out and in front of each other.  With each step, her grin grew more predatory.  He had to tilt his neck further and further back, and he struggled to control his bowels.

She stopped with one foot on either side of him and looked directly down upon the mouse-sized man, sneering.  She took a deep breath, then squatted suddenly and swept him up in her gloved fist.  Pinching his ankle between her thumb and forefinger, she dangled him upside down in front of her face.

“How pathetic,” she said, chuckling.  “What good is a bug like you to anyone?”

She flicked her wrist, whipping him back and forth as if she were ringing a dinner bell.  He started to throw up, which she found hilarious.  When he seemed to have emptied his stomach, she sat down at the table.

She removed a roll of tape from her purse and taped him to the table surface, spread-eagled.  She sat back and laughed.

“Look at you!” she giggled.  She retrieved a makeup mirror from her purse and held it directly over the hapless Derrick.

“Did you ever think you would end up like this?” she asked.  “I can’t imagine how you could have expected a less ridiculous fate.”

Next out of her purse came her tweezers.  She hovered them over Derrick, snapping the blades together.

“Do you still think of yourself as a man after all this?” she asked.  “Let’s find out.”

She slid the blades of the tweezers around his tiny cock and balls, then twisted and pulled so she could get a better view of them.

“This has got to be a joke,” she said, lowering her contemptuous face.  “I can’t even see your balls.”  She twisted in the opposite direction, forcing a cry of agony from Derrick.

“I hope you realize how fragile your junk is,” she said.  “The smallest pressure from my fingers, a reflex motion, and that tiny peen is a smear.  Not even you could find your balls after that.”  She tugged, and Derrick arched his back as best he could.

“They’re coming off...” she sang.

“Please, no!” he screamed.

Her grin widened, and then she released her grip.  He slumped back.

She set the tweezers down, the blades near his head where he could see them.  She sat back and regarded the scene for a moment.  Then she reached down and ripped the strips of tape from the table and his limbs, first his legs and then his arms.  As he curled into a ball and rubbed his abused extremities, she lit another cigarette.  After taking a deep drag, she flicked hot ash at Derrick, singeing his exposed ass.

“Oops,” she said as he scrambled away.  She brought the cigarette down and pointed the red-hot end at his chest, bringing it closer.  As he backed away from it he could only focus on the incinerating ash, so he cried in surprise when she backed him off the table and he fell—not to his death on the floor—but into  the sour-smelling beer mug.

She set the mug on the table and laughed.  He stood up inside the glass vessel, the last drops of beer puddling around his toes and dripping from his hair.

“Like your new home?” she asked.  A flick from her finger caused a sharp ring inside the glass, piercing Derrick’s ears.  Then she took a deep drag, sat forward with her face over the mug, and exhaled smoke into the tiny man’s cage.

Derrick started coughing, dropping to his knees and heaving violently.  She covered the top of the mug with her hand and brought her face close to the side, laughing.  Eventually he collapsed entirely, and she removed her hand, allowing the smoke to slowly drift out.

She sat back and waited to see how long he would lie in the pool of her beer and his vomit before getting up.  He pushed himself up in less than a minute.

“You know,” she said, “I’m not certain because it’s so small, but I could have sworn I saw you had a boner.  I’ll bet it was from when you were on the floor looking up my skirt.  Do you want to see my pussy?”

Derrick made no response that she could see.

“Of course you want to see it, you little pervert.  Just admit it.”

He stood up, then bent over for another coughing fit.

“C’mon, bug, fess up and ask me to show you my twat,” she commanded.  “Beg me.”

Derrick got down on his knees and clasped his hands in supplication.  He said something inaudible, then coughed again.

“I didn’t catch that, you little shit,” she said.  She lifted the mug closer to her ear.  “Say it again.” 

“May I please see your pussy, ma’am?” sputtered Derrick.

“My, aren’t you formal?” she said.

She bent down and set the mug on the floor.  Then she stood and unfastened a series of buttons running down the side of her skirt.  She whipped it off to reveal that she wore no underwear over her shaven crotch.

“Well?” she asked, hands on her hips.  Derrick stood up, but he looked as if he couldn’t decide whether it would be safer to look or to avert his eyes.

“Oh, it’s probably too far,” she said.  She put one high-heeled pump on each side of the mug, then squatted over him, bringing her groin down over the opening.  “How’s that?”

He looked up to see her folded pussy lips filling the roof of his glass prison.  He backed against the wall of the mug, but there was no escape when her urethra opened and urine started to gush down.  The stream of her piss knocked him down and the acrid vapor filled his eyes, ears, nose, and throat.  He put his hands up, but he could do nothing to halt the yellow torrent.  It kept flooding down and rose above his head.  The glass wall provided no place to rest his feet or hands, so he began treading “water.”  Finally the flow ended, and she stood up.

“Ah, I feel much better, don’t you?” she said, putting her skirt back on.  “What’s the matter?  Didn’t you enjoy the view?”

The giantess stood over him, giggling at the tiny man trying not to drown in her piss.

“That’s exactly where you belong,” she said, taking a final drag on her cigarette.  “Here,” she said, flicking the butt into the glass.

When he surrendered to this last indignity and clung to the butt floating in the warm urine, she smiled triumphantly, shot her latex gloves into the trash can, grabbed her purse and left the room.

The hostess returned shortly and seemed unsurprised to find Derrick in the mug of piss.  She picked up the glass, retrieved the ice bucket from the trolley, then emptied the contents of the mug over the ice cubes.  Derrick cried in hypothermic shock, but the hostess just made a face as she plucked him out and returned him to the box.  Then she applied sanitizing gel to her hands.

The hostess had only to wipe down the table before the room was ready for the next customer.

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