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Eli Bantam loved his girlfriend, there was no question. When he thought of the future, he saw them both together in a house with children and they would grow old together and have a happy life. When he went to bed at night, she was the last thing he thought about and when he woke up, she was the first thing that came to his mind. He loved her! The only true blemish in their relationship was his secret, which he fostered away in the dark to hide it from sight and from mind; but it was like a fungus, and there in the dark near the furnace of his lust it continued to grow and multiply and consume him little by little. His secret became a major part of himself and began to take up more and more of his time. He sought out pictures to pleasure himself to, he found works of fiction to do the same, he scoured for people who could help him indulge in the pleasures of the impossible. And Melanie, by her own volition and by Eli’s, was not a part of it.
The question became, which was the true Eli Bantam? The one that everyone knew, or the one who jacked off alone in the dark to text messages from a girl he’d never met? It was a tangled question and one he continuously pushed away, refusing to confront in any manner. But things have a way of coming to the surface. A thousand quotes have been made a by a thousand of the greatest minds in history, all concerning the furtive acts mankind performs when no one is watching: the Bible, Ghandi, Churchill. It was no wonder, then, that Eli’s secret would eventually become his reality only to ultimately bite him in the ass.
He had spent a lovely night with Melanie. A couple of wine bottles had lain discarded on the kitchen table as they kissed each other passionately, their tongues darting in and out of the shelter of their mouths; their clothes had watched from the floor, shed and forgotten, as the two intimately caressed one another, exploring each other’s bodies as if they were novelties every time they began to make love. Her fingers traced his abdomen, up to his chest and down to his inner thigh. He let his fingers glide and tickle from the apples of her cheeks down her clavicle, and across the swell of her breasts before alighting on her nipples and rolling them gently, sensually. Her fingers slid over his thigh, up near his throbbing groin and then back down the other thigh, teasing him. She finally brought her hands back up and hefted the weight of his balls in her hand. He had leaned in and began to lick her breast, taking her tits into his mouth and playing with them. She had gasped and giggled, and then brought one foot up, adjusting her torso, so that she could press her toes into his balls and begin to stroke up his shaft to the head then back down again. Up and down, up and down, her soft toes dancing along his skin. After awhile she had taken the head of his cock between her big toe and middle toe and begun to sway it back and forth, back and forth, until he had shuddered and grunted and spattered his cum all over her foot. Then she had smiled and patted his head, still pressed tight against her breasts, and laughed soothingly, her voice like chimes. “Did you like that?” she asked, squeezing his quickly-wilting dick affectionately with her toes.
His foot fetish was really the only thing she understood and had no problem with. Odd, considering the long string of girlfriends he had left behind and how none of them had ever seemed to be too thrilled with it. Even odder, because she refused to accept his other desires. Odd, and slightly frustrating (but only if he ever took the time to stop and think about it).
The rest of the night had continued in the same dizzy slur of sexual gratifications and intimate acts, all through the hazy sheen of alcohol. They had eventually fallen asleep, nestled in close to each other.
* * *
Eli had awoken alone. He continued to rest there, eyes closed but with the sunlight still filtering in through his eyelids. He breathed and stretched, and realized he did not feel the thudding pain of a hangover. He smiled to himself, and as he brought his hands back down he realized also that he had not felt the headboard of the bed when he’d stretched. He opened his eyes and turned to orient himself, certain he had just rolled at a strange angle while he slept.
Instead of orienting himself, his mind all but shattered.
The bed was a massive, rolling plane of wadded blankets and wrinkled sheets. He was standing next to one such wrinkle now, and it rose nearly to his waist after he’d leapt to his feet. He peered about, trying to take in the sheer size of everything. The wad of blankets absolutely dwarfed him now, standing as high as any hill, maybe higher. The bed stretched away to the room itself, the walls standing what could have easily been a quarter of a mile away at his size—like staring at one end of a shopping mall from the opposite end. The ceiling hung above him and was so far away he couldn’t make out the spackled texture—it was blurred and nondescript. This was probably the part that hit home the most, and he felt his stomach lurch in protest of what his eyes were seeing.
Naturally, he couldn’t take what he was seeing as fact. His mind immediately grasped for any explanation it could find. The first thing that occurred to him was that he was dreaming. Of course, it was the only rational explanation. People don’t shrink. Sure, it had always been his fantasy, but that’s what made it a fantasy, that it couldn’t happen—that it didn’t happen. He was dreaming. But even as the thoughts rattled in his mind, he realized how flimsy they were. He had never been a lucid dreamer, and he had never once had the realization that he was dreaming while he was still in the act of doing so. The idea that it would happen now didn’t sit well with him.
And then his miniscule nose picked up on a particular scent. The soft, almost spicy aroma of Melanie’s sweat and skin oil mixed with the heady cloud of her vanilla perfume. It lingered on the sheets, rising into the air around him like a ghost, wonderful and inviting and sexy as hell. He had developed a kind of Pavlovian response to that perfume, and his cock began to swell with the mere scent of Melanie’s perfume. It couldn’t be a dream, because there was no way this miniscule detail could ever occur to him. Something so trivial as perfume and body oil lingering on a bed would never be something he could come up with—it had never even occurred to him in the roleplays he had performed before.
So then Melanie. She wasn’t in the room anymore, she must have awoken already. All that meant was that he needed to get her attention.
Feeling the queasy gnaw of panic nipping in his stomach, Eli made his way toward the hill of blankets to get a higher vantage point so he could assess his options. The wad of blankets (or the hill of blankets, from his perspective), was not a firm mass but would compress inward a little with every step he took. He must have been incredibly light, though—he was sure if he tossed a penny on the blankets it would have sunk in much deeper than he was doing at the moment.
When he finally crested the hill, he immediately saw that he was in luck. The bunched-up blankets rolled away and cascaded down the side of the bed to pool on the floor. If he’d needed a lifeline to the carpet, this was certainly it. He bounded down the other side of the hill and came to a rest at the edge of the bed-cliff. He assessed the angle, trying to decide if rolling down the slope of the blankets would, in fact, kill him. Maybe he should just climb down. He glanced down at his arms. He wasn’t particularly strong, really. He was toned, sure, but that didn’t mean he could endure a three minute repelling session to the floor. The angle wasn’t all that steep, really. If he could lay sideways and roll down it like he used to roll down grassy hills as a kid, he might be able to pull it off—and with no grass stains, either!
He laid down on his back, body parallel to the edge of the bed, arms crossed over his chest. He gave himself a count of three with his heart pounding in his ears and the dull understanding that he might die right here and right now echoing in his mind. Then he rocked himself over the side of the cliff and down the blanket slope.
It was soft and resilient. He rolled relatively slowly at first, but the farther he went the more momentum he built up. The world was an infinite loop, a roiling kaleidoscope. The rough material of the blanket scuffed at his naked form and he was able to stop thinking of dying to complain to himself, almost comically, that it was going to chafe. Then he came to a soft halt in the puddle of blankets at the foot of the bed. He rested there for a moment in its soft embrace, letting his whirling head settle and checking to make sure that he was really and truly still alive.
After a few moments of resting, he leapt to his feet, the adrenaline gripping his body and intoxicating his mind. He was shaking as he leapt and danced, shouting Yeahhhh!!! and laughing like a madman. He had done it! He had made it to the floor. When the shaking had finally stopped and he had nearly cheered his vocal cords to tearing, he came to a halt and gazed at the door a quarter of a mile or so away. Melanie was out there somewhere, absently realizing how small he had to be to consider the hallway almost a different part of the world. There had been inside and outside when had been normal size; now there was here and there and the distance between them was hard to comprehend, let alone measure.
Better get going, he thought to himself and he shambled his way off the puddle of blankets and across the carpet. He instinctively stuck close to the bed at first; it was like a shelter, shrouding him in its shadow and keeping what was really a roof over him. It felt safe here, in a secluded spot rather than out in the open. Maybe it was akin to a million years of evolution: the cave was the safe spot; it was the open plains where the predators could get you. And they would. But when he reached the outter leg of the bed there would be no more shelter, and if he wanted to get Melanie’s attention and try to survive this whole, inexplicable ordeal then he had no choice but to go. He took a deep breath, and began his march across the open plain of what had once been (and remained to Melanie) a normal bedroom.
He walked for several minutes, gazing like a tourist in New York City who gawks at the skyscrapers. The dresser was enormous, towering over him. The bedside table was, too. He could peer under it and see dust bunnies that he had never noticed before, and the dull glint of what could be jewelry or maybe a coin. How long had that been there?
He could smell the faint, almost nonexistent aroma of floor cleaner, fresh in its chemical nature. He could hear the sound of a crow from somewhere beyond the walls of the house. He could track his miniscule shadow as it was thrown by the sunlight splashing in through the window.
When he was more than halfway to the door, he heard something that froze him solid and terrified him at the same time. A door down the hallway, distant but still incredibly loud at his size. He took his new size into account, tried to pinpoint where it had come from. The bathroom door, down the hallway. Melanie had been in the bathroom.
Then he felt something stirring beneath him. Slight tremors in the floorboard beneath the carpet padding, quavering vibrations that signified her footsteps. It was terrifying. It was kind of sexy. She had to be enormous now, and her feet even larger . . .
He tore himself out of these thoughts and flung his gaze wildly in every direction. He needed to make a decision and fast. The dresser was too far away, and so was the moulding where the floor meet the wall—he’d never make it in time. The door was out of the question because that was where Melanie would be coming in and as much as he liked her feet he certainly didn’t want to be plastered on them with his dying breath—sure, he had always fantasized about it, but reality was always much different than imagination, wasn’t it? The bed was far away, and as much of a longshot as it seemed to be at least she probably wouldn’t be making her way directly for the bed. Maybe if he took off that way, he could buy himself enough time for her to come to a rest and then he could try and get her attention.
As he took off at a mad sprint for the bed, he became acutely aware of the growing intensity of the tremors. Shockwave after shockwave. And then he could hear the meaty sound of flesh and muscle and bone of a petite and beautiful brunette woman walking barefoot across a wood floor in the hallway. Jesus Christ, she was moving fast! He had always imagined people and other things moving slower if he were smaller, but clearly that was not the case. As if to reassure him of this fact, he heard the half open door behind him creak open as Melanie came into the room. The world was shuddering and leaping around Eli as her massive footfalls slapped against the ground behind him. There was no way he was going to make it and he was too terrified to turn and see where she was in relation to him let alone which direction she might be heading.
Her footfalls echoed behind him, and despite his own survival instincts roaring its dissent in his mind, he looked back over his shoulder. What he saw made his heart stop and forced his breath to be lost as it escaped in one quick gasp that barely managed to come out as “Oh shit—”
What he saw played out at normal speed, but for the first time since he’d reached diminutive stature time slowed down to a crawl. Melanie’s right foot was planted on the ground, tensed and ready to lift as soon as the other made contact. It was still in the distance, a step or so from him at Melanie’s perspective but a few yards at Eli’s own. Her toes were gorgeous, the nails unpainted and glistening in the sunlight from the fresh shower she must have just finished taking. He could see the muscles of her foot quivering and writhing under the skin. He wondered where the left foot was, but his question was soon answered as he caught sight of a shadow in his peripheral vision. It was like watching the shadow of a hawk—he saw it darting across the floor and it was moving toward him and he flinched as if it was a physical object that could hit him. But it wasn’t, and the shadow merely slowed and then began to grow. He glanced up to see a terrifying and arousing sight: the gargantuan sole of Melanie’s foot coming down toward him. It was all happening so quickly that he had no real time to react, to dodge to one side or the other. All he could do was marvel at the soft, creamy skin. The wrinkles stood out on her sole, soft and verdant and welcoming. He could just make out the subtle blue ropes of veins beneath the skin. He could see the muscles in the ball of her foot flex as it prepared for impact. The toes wiggled in response, the pinky toe the only one that didn’t follow the others in unison; instead, it jutted out just a tad bit from the others.
Eli managed to have enough time only to throw himself to the ground like in the old duck-and-cover movies from the days of the Cold War. It would probably do him just as good now as it would have done for an atom bomb. He didn’t close his eyes, though, but watched with morbid fascination as her foot descended on him like a zeppelin plummeting from the sky. Her skin came down on him and the world grew darker in its shadow. He felt as much as he heard the impact from her foot on the padded carpet as the floor beneath him shook. He felt her skin press on him from above, pressing him into the carpet slightly. Then he felt another impact as the other foot, somewhere beyond the enveloping fold of this foot he was trapped under, came to a rest.
He came to the realization that she was standing right on top of him and by some dumb luck or miracle or whatever, he was still alive. He was pressed into the carpet and her muscles and skin were uncomfortably compressed on top of him, but he was alive. As he looked up, he realized what it probably was, a combination of two things. He was caught in a little open space between the floor and her foot. If he had been standing it probably would have snapped his spine, but since he was lying prone there was just enough room for him to squeeze in. She had high arches. Thank God, she had high arches. And the carpet—it was soft and yielding. It provided just enough give to push him slightly downward—enough room to keep a hundred tons of beautiful woman from crushing him beneath her foot.
But his delight was short lived. He felt her muscle above him writhe and flex as her toes wiggled to assess the sensation under her foot. She felt something there, soft and small. She assumed it was probably adhered to her foot, as most small and soft things usually do. She never really looked to see what it was, how many people really did? She was focused on another task. She didn’t bother to look as she lifted her foot and simultaneously kicked it out, trying to throw whatever it was under her free from her foot.
She had no idea it was her boyfriend. As such, he was not in fact stuck to her foot and when she performed the motion, she was able to send her boyfriend volleying across the floor and under the bed, out of sight. He rolled more than he bounced, but this time it was several magnitudes more painful than it had been rolling down the blanket. It wasn’t deadly by any stretch of the imagination, but it was painful. Had he been rolling head over heels there would have been a chance he wouldn’t have made it out alive: a snapped neck or a shattered spine. Luckily for him, he was rolling sideways yet again.
He tumbled for a couple of seconds before coming to a dazed rest on his side, gazing back at the foot that had just kicked his ass. The left foot that he had been trapped under now gracefully found its way back to the floor, still managing to emit a shockwave under him as it settled on the floor. The toes flexed and her feet moved idly as she began to get dressed. He saw one foot lift as she stepped into a massive pair of pink panties that lowered from the sky like a circus tarp. Then her shorts, and then no more clothing for the lower half of her body. Her right foot tapped rhythmically against the carpet, something she probably didn’t even realize she was doing, but for Eli it was different. Every time her toe hit the carpet it made a decently loud sound, like a boulder falling into packing peanuts. And the tremors, they rattled out every time she so much as twitched. Did everyone do that? It was like every movement no matter how subtle was straining at least one of the boards under the floor. How the hell did houses even survive?
She stepped away from the bed and slipped her feet into a pair of black flats that he absolutely loved. They were relatively new, still shiny, with no particular accessories: no studded gems, no bows, just a simple pair of black flats that had a soft sheen in the sunlight. Then she stepped out of the room, taking the earthshattering tremors with her.
Well, now he knew what it was like to be in the presence of a goddess. He rose to his feet, somewhat sore, and decided he needed to chase after her. He also realized how completely turned on the whole ordeal had made him, and at the memory of almost having been crushed under the soft sole of the woman he loved, he took his erection in his hand and began to masturbate the fresh memory.