Aaron lay there, unable to move, listening to the shower run, trying to figure out what had just happened.
Less than twelve hours ago, he had been mired in flesh and fluid, stuck beneath the foreskin of a man a thousand times his size. He had been trapped, helpless, as Emma sucked him off and swallowed him whole with a mouthful of cum. He had lay in the terrifying pit of her stomach, the walls beating at him from all sides, until it had suddenly seized and shoved him up through her throat and into the sink.
And the payoff for all that was getting laid? Emma seemed like a completely different person than she had the day before, if anything because he wasn't currently shoved bodily into her vagina. He could scarcely believe that she would treat him any differently, but he siezed the opportunity. If pleasing her was his ticket to freedom, then he would work his ass off for it.
He could have done better if he had jacked off beforehand, but at least she finished first. He had pulled out because, in all honesty, he didn't think that women enjoyed men finishing in them. But it seemed to piss her off, and now she thought that he was trying to find a clever escape.
Or was it a trap the whole time? Would she have found a reason to get mad at him no matter what he did? Then again, her boyfriend had finished inside her yesterday, and she had left it stewing inside her all night, which was honestly kind of disgusting. Maybe she wanted it. Next time, then.
If there would even be a next time. He had blown his chance. He'd spend the rest of his life inside her, he knew it. At least he could say that he had fucked Emma Watson.
The shower cut off, and, a moment later, he heard her walk out of the bathroom, followed by a wave of steamy air washing over his naked body. He couldn't see her, he just stared blankly at the ceiling, waiting to see what she would do next.
"You could probably give my boyfriend some pointers," she mused. "He's good, but that was... whooh. And I've been building you up all day."
She paused, then her face was over his. She was naked from the waist up, a bra in her hand as she leaned over him with a suspicious look. "Wait, you didn't jerk off in my stomach, did you?"
She eyed him for a moment, then laughed and pulled away. "Now, that's the kind of behavior I want from you. I want you to love every part of my body. I want to make you stop trying to pleasure me. You're not there yet, but you will be."
She was quiet for a moment, and he listened to the sounds of her getting ready before she announced, "You are terrible at conversation, by the way."
Really? Then let me talk, you bitch, he thought. But he couldn't say anything. Couldn't move but to blink. After a while, she said, "Alright, time to go. You want to come with?"
In an instant, he shrank down to less than an inch, lying frozen in a seemingly endless field of bedsheets. He had an idea of how small he was, because he was frustratingly close to the stain that he had left on the bed. Emma picked him up between thumb and forefinger and looked him down curiously. "Where do you want to go?" she pondered. "I guess it doesn't matter, does it?"
She had a thin dress sock in her other hand, and he was able to see that she had a lookalike on her left foot. "For the record," she said, "I was going to clean myself up before putting you back inside me, but this seems better for now."
Then she dropped him into the sock. He struck the fabric three times and bounced off before he hit the bottom, and he could barely see the outside world through the sheer cloth. With a sudden, lurching motion, she sat down on the bed, and he was tossed around helplessly inside a sock that waggled free in the air. Then she lifted her foot and slid her sock onto it.
The sound of fabric against her skin was deafening, the pale underside of her foot screaming at him with incredible speed. He was struck by the soft flesh of the arch, and his face was pressed mercilessly into it as her sock drew tight. For what it was worth, the skin was smooth, and smelled of soap and moisturizer. Maybe this wouldn't be so unpleasant.
When she put on her shoe, he was pressed a little harder into the flesh, but nothing could have prepared him for when she put her foot down.
He had hoped that the softer flesh of the arch of her foot would shelter him, he had hoped that less of her weight would be concentrated here, but the moment her foot hit the ground, the pressure that beset him was immense. He should have popped like a grape, his bones should have been ground to powder instantly, leaving nothing but a modest bloodstain on her foot. But, somehow, he survived, under pressure greater than anything he had ever felt before. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, his chest pushed down so hard that he was sure his sternum would touch his spine.
The pressure subsided for a moment, and he drew a ragged breath, heavy with the scent and taste of her foot, before her foot came back down and tried to kill him again.
Oh God. She was just walking. This was torture beyond what he could have ever imagined. He would rather spend the entire day swimming in his own cum, he would rather be shoved facefirst up her asshole, than take another step under the sole of her foot.
But, as she said, it didn't matter what he wanted.
Her foot came down with a deafening bang each time, and he took a deep, desperate breath when her weight lifted before it came back down and drove the air from his lungs. Gasp. Wham. Gasp. Wham. Gasp. Wham.
The rhythm was constant, at least. Painful, but reliable. After a few painful minutes, she stopped, her weight balanced equally on both feet. Maybe waiting for a bus, maybe a crosswalk, maybe just checking her phone. He couldn't tell because all he could see was the sole of her foot, and all he could hear was the pounding of his own heartbeat. Even half her weight was enough that he couldn't fill his lungs, and he lay there, trying in vain to struggle free with his lungs screaming for release.
He didn't need air, he knew it from the hours and hours he had spent swimming in bodily fluids. What kind of cruelty was this that his body demanded to breathe even when it didn't need to? Begging for reprieve, he squirmed and pushed and kicked but, with the giantess' weight on top of him, he couldn't move a muscle. He didn't even have the air to scream, though he was sure that nobody would even hear the muffled cries through the infinite flesh that surrounded him.
Then her weight shifted, and he was finally able to give his lungs the relief they wanted. He greedily sucked down hot air, heavy with the stench of soap and moisturizer, for the brief moment before her weight shifted back and pushed the air out of his lungs again.
All Aaron wanted was to die, and it had hardly been fifteen minutes. But he couldn't die, and he knew that he would probably be stuck here for the entire day. God, this was a nightmare.