What was she doing?
Angie Hasarvana drove at 10 mph over the speed limit on her way home, weaving in and out through traffic. She was angry. Angry at the principal who had not known where her son was. Angry at the government for getting schools to invite her children back into a dangerous environment. Angry at herself for letting them go. Beatrice had been silent the entire time since that janitor had brought her to the principal’s office (the only helpful member of staff at the whole school apparently), and Dante was missing. Sure, Principal O’Shannessey had promised that she would remind all staff to be on the lookout for her son, but then she started talking about eventualities and risks and … Angie had seen red. The thought that her son was at that moment nothing but a red stain on the underside of a shoe was too much to bear.
She cursed as she was forced give up an overtake as oncoming headlights blinded her. Angie had stormed out swearing about lawsuits and police, but O’Shannessey had clearly explained why that wasn’t going to work. She knew she had to do something; her maternal instincts a mix of rage and despair, but what? As she drove home, fuming, she knew that she should calm down and at least try to console her daughter, who was never so quiet without a grave reason. She glanced down at Beatrice’s still form, staring vacantly at the darkness beneath the glove box. As much as Angie hated when Beatrice went off on one of her famous rants, her daughter’s silence was infinitely worse.
Beatrice was unaware of the attention she was getting, normally a top priority. Instead, her mind was trying to process the happenings of the day. She had been cheated: cheated of her rightful place in the social hierarchy, cheated of her chances with Kyle and cheated of her perfect first day back at school. Her tormentors would pay. She didn’t yet know how, but they would; she would make sure of it. With a determined look sparking in her eyes, she rose from behind the seat belt as the car pulled into their driveway, past the familiar flickering of a streetlamp.
***
What was she doing?
Marcia O’Shannessey had been asking herself the same question for the past hour as she sat in her car in the deadlock that was 1800 traffic. Her son had gone home with her ex-husband hours ago and she was alone in the vehicle … almost. She hadn’t meant to do it, but it was just so easy, and liberating. Three parents of her new shrunken students had come into the office that day; one to complain about some injury or other to their son, and another that couldn’t find her little runts. Marcia had tried her best to diffuse the situations, but all she had gotten for her troubles were threats of lawsuits and angry words. She knew very well from the disclaimers she herself had overseen the writing of, that the school would be fine. After all, they had never guaranteed complete safety, and in any case, the laws defining the rights of the little vermin were vague at best. It was this single, infective, freeing thought, that had been in her mind when she had prepared to leave, and found the Goremans on a chair outside her office.
They were hysterical, and the only rational thing to do was to calm them down right? So what if her usual approach had failed? Marcia had tried everything, but they had sensed her lack of true fear. She couldn’t be sued; she wasn’t liable for their daughter’s safety. Then the little woman had to bring the law into it. Marcia had had no idea that she was a lawyer until she started throwing around terms like public endangerment and corporate liability for psychological trauma. It was late, and she had been tired, and the woman was threatening to go to the courthouse there and then. What other choice had she had? Still, Marcia was sweating in the stuffy vehicle as she tried to justify her actions.
***
What was she doing?
Dante was thrown around as the giantess fumbled about his surroundings, the enormous keys just evading her fingertips. Soon enough, she withdrew them and the tiny boy was left alone in the quaking, vastness that was Janet’s purse. The door clicked open and she entered her apartment, tossing the bag onto her couch as she strode to the kitchen. Dante had been too weak to move when she had tossed him into the purse, muttering something about kids not collecting their stuff, and she still hadn’t realized that he was not a toy. The tiny boy prayed that she would leave him be in the purse and simply take him back the next day. He had no idea how his mother would be reacting, or the school or anyone. When he was sure that Janet was otherwise occupied, he dared push himself up into a sitting position, then stood in the lopsided cavern. The various items in the space were a mystery as Dante fumbled in the darkness, not sure what he was supposed to do. His stomach growled, not having eaten since the morning, but he tried to ignore this in place of his thirst. Discounting the horny librarian’s cum, he hadn’t drunk a thing for hours, and the results were clear. His parched throat ached and his dried lips were cracking. Even his saliva was thick and hard to swallow. It was decided, he would have to escape the purse, at least to find water. At home it had always been a given: the full dish of water on the ground for him to use at will, but now, he would have to get to a sink, or an open bottle … Focus. Dante had to focus, first on getting out undetected. He was just about sure that he was on the side of the bag when his world erupted in blinding light, deafening sounds and a hellish vibration. He fell to his knees, clutching his ears and screaming instinctively.
***
What was she doing?
Emma glanced impatiently at her watch as she sat curled up on her couch. Her mother was out and her father still at work, so she wanted nothing more than for her to hurry. She had left the school as soon as Allison’s practice had finished, and had raced home on her bike. She knew that her girlfriend liked to shower at school, so she had expected the doorbell to ring at most half an hour after she returned. But it had been almost 60 minutes and she was starting to worry. Had Allison forgotten that she was coming? Had she decided that something else was more interesting? Someone else …?
A gentle knock on the front door snapped her back into reality and Emma sprang gleefully from her seat. Dressed in short, pastel pink pajama bottoms and a thin blouse with the shoulders bare, she rushed to the source of the sound. Pulling open the door, she beamed at the sight of her love. Allison looked into her eyes with the alluring nonchalance that made Emma crazy about her; of course, they both knew that she was anything but dispassionate, in the right circumstances. When Allison smiled, the shorter girl melted, trying desperately not to betray how weak that smile made her knees.
“Hey beautiful,” Allison sang, “Did I miss the party?” Her femininity showed despite her tomboyish attire; a pair of jeans and a grey-t-shirt, a little wet from her freshly washed hair. How Emma longed to run her fingers through Allison’s rich brown locks.
“You are just in time,” Emma purred, “But it’s going to cost you.”
And Allison kissed her. Emma recalled how jealous she had been of the little boy that Allison had been talking to in the library and could have laughed. The brunette’s lips were warm and soft like fresh cakes, the slightest hint of peaches delectable from her lip-gloss, her tongue powerful and enticing. Emma let herself melt against the other girl’s strong, curvaceous body, let her loving arms wrap around with an unspoken promise of never letting go. When Allison withdrew from the embrace, the blonde leaned forward a little, not wanting it to end. Their faces were so close, and Emma could feel the warmth of her lover’s breath on her lips: those, perfect, inviting, red lips.
“That’ll do it,” Emma whispered, her arms still around the other girl’s neck. She pulled Allison towards her a little, inviting her inside, dreaming of where it might go.
“Did you remember to get Dante from the library?” Allison asked as she slung her bag from her shoulder.
“What?” Emma asked. And Allison stopped.
“Em, did you remember to take that little guy to the lobby so his mom could pick him up?” Allison asked again.
“Well … no, I forgot okay,” Emma admitted, feeling more frustrated than sorry.
“What do you mean you forgot?” Allison demanded, her voice still soft but clearly conveying her concern. She stepped away from the other girl, towards the door, “You just left him there?”
“Whatever, the librarian just probably put him the lost and found or something,” Emma exclaimed, “You can just pick your toy up from the box tomorrow.”
Allison had gone pale at the thought of Dante being tossed under a pile of books and clothes, left where no one would think twice before tossing something heavy in over him. Something too heavy … “I have to go, maybe they haven’t locked up yet,” she mumbled as she threw open the door and stepped back into the night.
“So you’re just going to leave me?” Emma almost yelled at the door frame. Allison didn’t reply, as she hoped onto her bike, but the look she gave Emma was more than enough: disappointment, but more than that, she was hurt that Emma had let her down. The blonde was fuming as her girlfriend rode off, back towards the school: angry with herself, and most of all angry with the little shit that was getting between Allison and her.
***
The ringing phone was deafening, and Dante was forced to wait for a full minute before Janet’s fingers opened the purse and began to look for the phone. Within a moment however, she had gotten frustrated and simply upturned the whole thing. Dante was forced to remove his hands from his ears as his world literally flipped and he fell, crashing onto the couch and managing to roll out of the way of Janet’s keys as everything tumbled out of the purse. The giantess however, didn’t seem to notice and instead sat beside the mess and answered her phone.
“NO CHRIS, I’M NOT OUT WITH THE GIRLS,” she said, rolling her eyes after having read her … friend’s caller ID. Her voice was laced with her annoyance, as if this person called frequently and to her disdain, but most of all, it was deafening. Dante wondered if her neighbors could hear every conversation she had simply from the volume of her subtly high-pitched screech.
“WHAT? NO, YOU CANNOT COME OVER! WE’RE NOT A THING CHRIS, JEEZ!” Janet boomed, shifting her weight on her rear and thus rearranging the topography of the couch. Dante tumbled towards the librarian as she placed a hand on the couch to support herself and subsequently drew everything towards it.
“HONESTLY CHRIS, I WILL BLOCK YOU IF YOU DON’T STOP CALLING LIKE THIS. GOOD BYE. NO, GOOD BYE!” Janet concluded, tossing the phone angrily over the mess on the couch onto a cushion, as if it was in some way responsible for her frustration. Why did she always find the crazy possessive types?
By this time Dante was making sure to stay very still. He had tried his best to avoid it, but he now lay beside the colossal index finger of the behemoth brunette, attempting to stay as still as possible. Fortunately, she seemed too preoccupied by her thoughts to pay him any attention. Unfortunately, her fingers rose and landed on either side of him: Janet had a habit of fiddling with things when she was thinking.
Dante resisted every urge to fight back, instead fighting to keep still and limp as the giantess picked him up and then tossed him subconsciously onto the couch, her powerful fingers throwing him around with ease. The tree-trunk like fingers then descended over him, rolling him against the rough, worn fabric of the couch beneath them. However, the moment that her index finger managed to find him again, it pressed down so hard that the boy thought that he would explode. He screamed and slammed his fists into the finger, willing to do anything to be freed from the torment. With a jolt, Janet felt the movement and flicked him away with the same finger. Dante landed on his side a few centimeters away, reeling from the blow. Janet’s eyes fell on him in an instant, watching for any sing of movement.
***
The worst part about it was the heat. Talia Goreman regained consciousness soaked and still very much in the same hell she had lost it in. Mercifully, she was able to keep her tiny body out of the beast that was her principal’s pussy, but she couldn’t tell how much of the slime she was in was vaginal fluid, and how much of it was sweat. With her feet apart, on each pedal of her car, the giantess was at least not crushing her captive, but the tiny girl was very aware that a slight shift forward could suck the panties, and her under the goddess’s crotch: she was surprised that she was still relatively unscathed.
From the tiny, plastic box on the passenger seat, Mrs. Goreman fumed. Her husband was fiddling around, trying to get his worthless phone to connect. She knew that the phone was far too small to connect to any tower while they were moving, but at least they could call someone when their captor arrived at wherever she was taking them. The lawyer gazed across at the woman who had taken them, at her ugly, utterly monstrous thighs that showed shamelessly out of her ill-fitting skirt. For all her power and success at tackling criminals, she felt powerless. What was she supposed to do? It finally hit her that her daughter might be gone: she started to cry.
***
Beatrice sat in silence in front of her dinner, not in the mood for the small slice of pizza that she had been offered. Her mind however was ablaze with activity. What was she going to do? She had realized that school wasn’t going to be as easy as it had been before her shrinking, but now she had experienced it, and she was determined to get her revenge on those who had wronged her. The only question was, how? She would have to start by gaining her position among the other shrunken students, which needn’t be too difficult given her size (she made a mental note to check up on Kyle the next day). But then what? High school was like a jungle, and despite their size, Beatrice knew that not all the colossal students would be as cocky as Bryony had been. As much as it would sully her pride, she would have to find a protector. School’s always had loners, not those who chose to isolate themselves, but rather kids who couldn’t find a friend if they tried.
As her plans began to take shape, her mother walked into the kitchen, her eyes red and her phone on her ear.
“YES … A CENTIMETER… WE’VE BEEN OVER THIS! I … NO IT’S NOT OKAY … NO, WAIT …”
The force with which Angie tossed the phone onto the table shook Beatrice out of her trance. She looked up at the woman for the first time that night and could see that she had been drinking. The colossal woman swayed a little as she stepped towards the table, resting a hand on its surface for support. She glanced at her daughter and her eyes creased a little on the sides: she tried to smile.
“Sorry about that sweetie,” she said softly, “I was just trying the police again, but they said that anyone smaller than a foot was misplaced, not missing.” The bitterness was clear in her subtly slurred words, but she persevered, “I … I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”
She said the last words to no one in particular, but Beatrice wasn’t listening anyway. She settled back to her thoughts, filtering out her mother’s continued rambling as unimportant.
***
“SHIT!” Marcia hissed as the plastic box slipped from her hands and tumbled to the floor just inside her front door. The tiny occupants of the makeshift prison screamed in terror as they hurtled down. Mrs. Goremans swore as the box hit the floor and she landed hard on her left arm, feeling the jarring pain of her humerus fracturing. Still, she realized that the lid of the box had come off, and before her was the threadbare carpeting of freedom. She hauled herself to her feet as footsteps like bombs fell on either side of the box. Her eyes went wide as she realized that the box would soon be lifted. Without thinking, she leapt forward, running on her tiny, shaky legs to freedom. A glance to her right showed that her husband was already trudging through the carpet, but where was he going? Of course: the phone!
The world lit up the giantess flipped a switch, straddling the upturned box as she closed the front door. The two tiny forms were scattering. Mrs. Goreman was making for the living room, directly away from the colossal pumps on either side of the box. Each one easily several times her height and impossibly huge. What seemed like miles away, Mr. Goreman was sprinting towards the barely visible cellphone. His head down, he had eyes only for the device, the one thing that would save them from this psychotic monster. He was close, he could see it. The man in his late 50s dove onto his hands and knees as his fingers curled around the near-microscopic device. As he unlocked it, he saw a solitary bar appear: he had signal. Mrs. Goreman slowed down to see her husband raise the phone and look at her, his face a portrait of relief.
Neither of them saw even the shadow before the worn, beige, size 10 flat collided with the floor, Mr. Goreman disappearing with a thundering boom that knocked his wife off her feet. The puny man was crushed, his bones snapping like crisp snow and his body crumpling like tissue underneath the behemoth shoe. As Mrs. Goreman watched in horror, a scream trapped in her throat, the gigantic foot began to turn. With a slow turn of the heel, Marcia ground the toe of her foot into the carpet, smearing the infinitesimal, bloodied remains of the man under the filthy, worn sole of the flat, her weight erasing him from existence with pathetic ease. The monstrous shoe rose from the ground as she took a ground-shaking step towards Mrs. Goreman. The tiny woman saw the faintest streak of red rise as bits of her husband remained stuck to the giantess’s shoe: they would be wiped off as she walked the next day.
“Now look what you made me do,” her voice boomed from above. The lawyer tried to stand but as Marcia’s other foot fell beside her, she fell onto her back, cowering at the towering woman above her. With a meaty leg rising like a mountain on either side of her, Mrs. Goreman stared up at the impossibly high, impossibly huge crotch of her husband’s killer. The skirt was pointless at such an angle, and at that moment, the tiny woman felt more helplessly trapped than the pitiful cotton panties wedged high up the giantess’s ass crack.