While Sam recognized Rachel after a minute of neck-craning and gawk-eyed observation, he didn’t recognize her as a person first so much as a cataclysmic force of nature. Bowed on the floor like an insect, he was staring dead ahead at the battleship-sized monuments of Rachel’s glamorous heels. Her legs towered dizzingly above, her trim musculature sculpted by what Sam could only assume to be rigorous jogging and pilates routines. Closer down to his level, though, a pair of classy brown leather husks tautly cupped each of her shapely peds. A pair of clunky spike spires stabbed the ground with every stride. This was where his attention was now hopelessly ensnared, and for a far different reason than usual.
In any other situation of his life, Sam might watch those fashionable feet in the fragrant leather heels and spiders’ web nylon netting approaching, and immediately start drooling at the prospect of these beautiful peds slipping out of the shoes and wrapping their meaty selves around his cock. Now, there was only a horrified winnowing extracting his soul, like a drainpipe was opened at the bottom of his inch-tall person. Sam was absolutely terrified as he’d never been in his life. Piss trickled down his pant leg.
“Marsha, I thought you said he was already here?” Rachel boomed. Her thundercrack footfalls gave Sam epileptic jitters, but her voice in particular imbued fresh fear. Hearing distinctly human words projected out of that admittedly gorgeous albeit colossal body was almost so surreal it might have been funny if it wasn’t gut-wrenchingly scary.
“He went in there. Maybe he slipped out again while I was in the ladies’ room?” a voice echoed back from the hall, presumably Marsha the secretary who’d let Sam into Rachel’s office. “You want me to give him a ring?”
“No, don’t worry about it. I’ll handle him,” Rachel declared. She shut the door softly behind, then marched across the room to her desk.
Even though he was safely out of the warpath, positioned as he was under the chair, Sam was still stricken by paranoia at the sight of those enormous shoes trampling nearer. He couldn’t believe what he was watching. The floor shuddered every time Rachel’s feet impacted the carpet, then made berth again to launch those powerful legs forward. As she walked past, each casual step covering distance that Sam couldn’t leap in two dozen, the shimmer of those famously naked nylons revolved around her supple calf muscles. In simultaneous awe and panic, Sam finally lifted himself up again and took tentative steps across the distant stretch of carpet toward the glass castle of the desk.
Rachel hummed a merry tune to herself as she took a seat in the black swivel chair, and adjusted her stylish glasses on the bridge of her nose. Her dark hair, tied back in a glossy ponytail, was tossed from one shoulder to the other as she scooped up the landline handset in her hand. Once she dialed, her gothic-hued fingernails tapped impatiently on the desktop.
The inch-tall man halted in his brief pilgrimage halfway under the desk. He was now faced with the direct sight of Rachel’s feet on the opposite end. All she’d have to do was swing the pendulum of just one foot, and he’d be punted into oblivion.
Twin milky-brown pointed shoe slopes bounced rhythmically on the carpet, counting out the beat of Rachel’s hummed song. Soft, subtle veins appeared along the smooth hills which formed the tops of her feet from the effort of rising and falling. The stockings wrinkled at the cusp where the heels’ openings intersected with Rachel’s pale yet peachy skin, tugging and stretching each time she made even the slightest of adjustments. Combined with her majestic shoes and glimmering stockings, Rachel’s feet were like machines unto themselves: great earth movers capable of cracking the planet’s crust with a strong enough stomp. Their allure matched their menace. Despite himself, Sam felt his crotch tightening, but his erection only wilted again once he recalled the context, and reminded himself that those gigantic feet he so admired were more than capable of squashing him into a crimson smear with one misplaced step.
“C’mon, c’mon. Pick up, asshole,” Rachel muttered to herself. “The whole goddamn universe doesn’t revolve around you, you know.”
Sam jumped at the sound of his own phone bleeping in his pocket. In the moment of relief, he swiped the phone out, deciding to keep from getting angry at the unfairness of his change until that slutty titaness got him the medical attention he desperately needed. He answered.
“Hello?” he croaked. Sam wasn’t usually a man who began phone calls with a hello, but this was a peculiar day.
“Mr. Bennett?” Rachel said, wearing a forced smile. Her tone changed instantly to professional mode. “Good morning. I just wanted to remind you about our nine o’clock appointment this morning to get those last i’s dotted and t’s crossed. Are you-”
“I’m here,” he whimpered, more meekly than he wanted. “I’m-”
“What?”
“I’m on your floor.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Look under your desk. I’m… down here.”
The line went silent, and Sam saw the entirety of Rachel’s massive body tensing up. Her calves flexed tight, and her shoes ceased their tapping pattern instantly. Then, setting the phone down, the giantess gripped the edge of the desk and cautiously poked her head underneath. Rachel’s gorgeous, billboard-scale countenance appeared, pinched with resentment for the man she’d just had to treat so kindly, and scanned the carpet. Those hazel eyes darted. She was about to give up on what was surely just an odd prank when Rachel’s gaze snagged on the thumb-sized man in his cute little suit, standing less than a foot away from her toes.
Sam was expecting a shriek from the woman, and pre-emptively covered his ears. And while Rachel’s jaw dropped, no shrill sound escaped, especially once she cupped her palm over her lips.
“Holy fucking Jesus,” Rachel slurred, batting her eyes, as if the mirage might be cleared away as easily as a speck of dust. She lifted her glasses up and down. In a flash, she’d slid out of her chair, crouching under the desk like a wildcat ready to pounce, despite the tight fitted cut of her business-formal top and skirt. Her palms flattened to the floor, her long fingers clawing at the carpet fibers, perhaps expecting the whole world to be flipped upside down at any second.
Sam pocketed his phone. He gulped, diverting his gaze away from Rachel’s looming valley of cleavage, and focused on her face as best he could. The intensity of her crackling irises and studious gaze made him blink, which was an unfamiliar sensation for Sam; generally it was him holding a stare until the other person, usually a woman with pretty feet, flinched. But then again, nothing this morning was going the regular way. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that, from Sam’s perspective, Rachel Morrow now stood at an immodest sky-stretching height of four hundred feet tall.
“H-H…” Sam coughed. His throat went dry.
“What the hell is happening?” Rachel moaned, clutching her temple. Her fingers trembled. “What is this?”
“It’s me, Sam,” he replied, stupidly, but didn’t know where else to begin. “I’ve…”
“…Jesus.”
“Yeah, I know, just listen. I don’t know what the fuck happened, but I need you to-”
“This isn’t real. It can’t be.” Rachel’s breath grew shallower, turning to short huffs. Her breasts seemed to swell out of her top with each labored inhalation, then retract again. Those black-tipped fingernails pinched the side of her spectacles and pulled them off her face again.
“-I need you to get back on that phone and call, I don’t know, the damn paramedics or something. God, like they’ll be able to do anything. Just… stay back. Don’t touch me. I don’t think it would take much to… you know…” Sam ordered. Rachel was not moving fast enough for his liking, and his anxiety level was only rising higher.
Ignoring the shrunken complainer in the haze of her shock, Rachel reached an enormous hand forward, slender fingers clawed in preparation to grasp Sam. Startled, the man backpedaled, tripping over his legs, and fell on his butt. Hopelessly vulnerable, it took no effort for the pipsqueak to be overtaken first by shadow, then the pale palm flesh of his lawyer. The surprisingly cool, tender ceiling of skin coddled around Sam, the fingers curling around his back and collecting him into the creased center of the woman’s hand. Her fist closed, and she had him.