Hopeless, Sam witnessed the descent back toward the floor, and gulped down the final meaningless wisps of AC-tinted air before reuniting with the stale, dark void of the high heel’s interior. However, she wasn’t done toying with him yet, which Sam only noticed when Rachel’s toes relented their grip, and allowed the man free reign to flop about like a fish in the tight confines of the nylon. As she inserted her toes into the shoe, Sam was ground down into the basin, and rolled out from the cupped crevice of her five digits. Over the ball of her foot he rode, until Sam snagged right in the deepest span of her sole. At first assuming it was a mistake, due to the obvious increased risk of being directly under Rachel’s foot rather than tangled in her giant toes, Sam saw or heard no signs of change. Then he knew it was no accident. Nothing Rachel had done today was anything but purposeful.
The giantess’s foot settled comfortably into place, subtly terraforming the shoe back to the shape of her appendage, and in the process, granting Sam a front-row seat to every micro-development in the earth-moving partnership between her pudgy sole, the gritty nylon, and the unforgiving insole runway. At the epicenter of it all was the unfortunate little man who, a mere two days ago, would’ve gladly paid several thousand dollars for the opportunity to have his naked body pressed to this particular feminine sole. Now, shrunken and clawing for air, as well as the privilege of not being crushed to paste beneath his own lawyer’s naked foot, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Wallowing in a pity party for himself, Sam awaited the next temporary mercy.
Rachel smirked, and gave her foot another shove, wriggling and worming it inside the pump. The pressure mounted, and she felt her toes numbing ever so slightly from the effort of burrowing against the pointed inner nose of the leather shoe. She lavished in the sensation of the little nude inch-tall man pancaking under her warm sole, smearing him into the insole without actually breaking or liquefying him. At least not yet.
Not that Rachel intended to smash Sam. There was a purpose to all the fun, after all; it wouldn’t do if he got off the hook for the ultimate lesson she had to teach him. And he would likely be far less receptive to new horizons on human relationships if he was a red gunky streak along her elegant sole. Yes, she was starting to tempt the laws of physics now by keeping him in such a place of vulnerability, compared to earlier where he had room to slide up between her toes whenever the weight became too much to bear. But the way Rachel saw it, she had a deep arch, which helped accommodate his shape. Plus, the alternative was keeping him under her actual heel, which made this location an incredible charity. By spending the morning with him underneath her foot and inside her shoe, Rachel had also developed a greater bodily awareness and appreciation for the human insect’s limits. She was more than confident that she could keep him here without inflicting permanent harm, aside from the emotional duress of being stepped upon by a giant woman’s meaty wrinkled sole in the sweaty darkness for hours on end.
Rachel stood up, and made her way for the door. It was the first time she’d actually taken a walk with Sam beneath her foot, rather than stowed in her pocket, and the difference nearly crippled her with power-drunk goose bumps. The feeling was simply magnetic. In general, Rachel wasn’t especially cognizant of the sensation of transferring weight from one foot to the other, but in this moment, it was all she could and wanted to feel. There was so much tantalizing detail to lock into her memory: the splaying of her arch as she pressed it into the shoe; the relaxing weightlessness of lifting off to take a step; the puny, frail body compressing beneath her weighty sole like a human gingerbread cutter. Despite the heat and stuffiness within her shoe, Rachel was quite certain that her foot was sensitive enough to feel the miniature man’s exact shape, including that hilarious nub of a dick tucked up inside a sole wrinkle.
In the hallway, Rachel made her way for the copy room. There was one closer by her private office, but she chose the distant one, which would give her more time to stroll. And, more importantly, more time for Sam to endure being trodden upon, to think about his actions.
Passing by coworkers, she paid randomized hellos and nods, receiving them back, all without a trace of knowledge exchanging between them that she had a little tar stain of a person entrapped inside her shoe where he belonged. There was no reason that any of them should’ve suspected the precious cargo Rachel had sandwiched between her foot and insole, of course, but it was thrilling nonetheless. Rachel beamed from ear-to-ear, relishing the absolute control she possessed, and in so small a way. All she was doing was walking, just as she did every day of her life, and yet this was different in every single way. With every step she took, pounding Sam into the unforgiving mattress-like slab of her sole, she felt she was taking payment for all the wrongs he’d wrought with his libido and cruel misuse of office clout. Every ounce of pressure she applied to him was an ounce of the dignity that he’d stolen from other women, paid back in rapid installments as she walked at a brisk pace. Good.
Reaching the copy room, which was empty, Rachel returned to her actual job, and briefly allowed herself to forget about Sam’s existence under her foot. She clicked through the screens, tapping buttons and humming to herself. It was a fun luxury to be afforded, letting her focus fade in and out; when she was the one with a shrunken man in her shoe, it was perfectly acceptable to forget he was there, and carry on with her own duties, while his attention to her foot, if anything, only increased.
In time with the sound of the copies running off into the tray, Rachel lifted her foot off the ground and supported her leg instead by balancing loosely on the toe-tip of the shoe. She bounced her leg, rubbing her sole along the now-vertical incline of the heel, and as a result, jostling Sam around with particular intensity. He was literally pinned to the wall of the shoe by the mass of her sole. After a few minutes in this position, though, the woman absent-mindedly let her heel unhook from the tight clasp at the back, and allowed it to hang open. From there, using her toes as a hinge-point, she was able to dangle the shoe on and off her foot. With the beat of the copies, she clapped the insole to her soft foot again and again, only recalling Sam’s position after a few dozen dangles.
Peeking over her shoulder, Rachel tilted her shoe yet further back, until she could see the little man lying at the union of the V-shape between her shapely sole and the partially hanging shoe just below the ball of her foot. Just to ensure he was still present in the moment, Rachel gave her shoe another toss, embracing Sam back against the semi-moist bulwark of her sole; to her delight, he stirred again, and did his best to unsuccessfully push himself away from her foot. She smiled at his bleary reaction to the blinding fluorescent ceiling lights suddenly filling up his hot, dark prison cell, and even giggled loudly enough for Sam to hear.
It was just a shame she’d forced him to climax so soon in the day. He’d likely be too exhausted to manage other too soon, and Rachel had derived unfathomable depths of entertainment from forcing that gesture: his favorite pastime, turned into grating psychological torture. Then, of course, immediately followed up with the physical torture of being stampeded between her powerful foot and the snug nylon, and the woman honestly couldn’t guess which method would be more damaging to him in the long run. But who cared?
“Don’t count on too many breaks like this, squirt. I just like letting my feet get a little air sometimes, that’s all,” Rachel said to him, before turning back around and finishing up her work with the copier. She heard Sam starting to make a noise. Whether he was answering her or simply crying out in anguish, she didn’t know; all she could say for certain was that pinching her toes and subsequently pushing her foot fully back inside the shoe adequately shut him up. With his tiny body plastered snow angel-style to the balmy, marshmallow-tough pad of sole flesh, his face flush to the foot and having to gasp desperate breaths of reeking air from the nearest skin crevice, holding a conversation wasn’t really in the cards.
Rachel was so content and self-certain in her utter ownership of Sam, that she didn’t notice the door to the copy room opening and closing. Without warning, she heard a soothing voice in her ear, one she couldn’t quite place:
“I love your shoes.”