Every gulp of dank air was filtered through the stringy bagging of the nylon, thick as burlap at this size, and flavored intensely of the shoe’s history. Though thankfully dry save for the natural humidity, the inner walls of the cave were redolent of damp leather from repeated wear during balmy summers. Not only that, but the repeated grinding of nylon fabric on the felt interior had rug-burned away the luster of each surface, which also left a distinct odor. Though nothing quite compared to the obvious and omnipresent warm, moist air steaming from Rachel’s own foot. She wasn’t even sweating, at least not yet, but the thick smell nevertheless made itself known by dominating the space like marked territory. At such close proximity to her giant toes, there was practically no buffer zone between those tender crevices and the inch-tall man’s sensitive airways.
Sam gagged. While he considered himself a sexual connoisseur of beautiful women’s feet, he was not exactly one for the kinkier elements of the predilection. The uses of a woman’s foot stopped and ended when they pumped his cock from a safe distance. He was of course aware of the freaks who wanted to stick their noses under the soles and their tongues between the grimy toes, sniffing and slurping up the rank goods in the name of “worshipping” the lady. Well, Sam still had his pride, and he’d never have been caught debasing himself in such a way.
Regardless of what Sam wanted, though, he was made to experience those sensory treats from up close and personal, buried deep within the enclosed leather prison, with a powerful sixty-foot-long ped blockading his way to freedom. A musky fog assaulted his senses, and every time Rachel casually fidgeted her second toe, the mass of it massaged across his face, inadvertently giving him a faint sample of the whiffy nylon threads across his tiny lips.
Though Sam had to bitterly admit, even if he was able to wrestle his way out from the pudgy grip of these two toes, and somehow fought his way up the stretchy nylon-spanned slope of Rachel’s foot, he’d still be faced with the near-impossible task of clambering out of the shoe’s mouth at the top. Then of course there was the matter of Rachel, unfortunately sharp as a tack and more cunning than he’d once given her credit for. Those dastardly fingers could just as easily snatch him up again and jam him right back down into the sour depths of the heel.
The little businessman was unaccustomed to feeling this powerless, and it did not suit him at all. After half an hour of mindless waiting in the darkness, pinned to the wall by the bulk of Rachel’s fragrant toes, he resumed resisting again. Thrusting his shoulders and legs every which way, Sam managed to dig his claws into the nude-colored netting of his captor’s legwear, wrapped over the nearest toe. The mesh separated easily for his pin-like fingertips, and Sam gave a tug. No sooner had he managed to pull himself a few micrometers higher overtop of Rachel’s toes, though, when she responded, though not aloud.
Giving false hope for just an instant, Rachel rolled her black-painted toes downward against the ragged insole of the heel. This freed up the pressure mounted on the incher’s body, and he tumbled off the upper shelf of Rachel’s nailbeds, landing on his back on the floor again. Then her digits reared their beastly bulk again. Nylon snagged under the weight from the ball of her foot for just a second, stretching like bubble gum over Sam, and then Rachel settled in. Those same two toes which previously just kept him pressed to the divoted wall now heaved their meaty heft down upon Sam. With only a thin layer of faded stocking separating Sam from the twin bullies, both Rachel’s second and third toes released muscular control and lay still atop him.
Unable to even move his limbs now, Sam squirmed again, but was quickly informed by the burly darkness that he was tightly entombed under the central few toes of his lawyer’s megalomaniacal foot. A coffin of weighty, vaguely lotion-and-perspiration-scented toes held him fast to the earth. For the next hour he remained in the exact same position. Occasionally Rachel would tap her foot once or twice in a row, perhaps to keep the circulation going in her feet, and whenever it occurred, Sam foolishly hoped she was deciding he’d learned his lesson and was ready to chitchat. As her toes arched, he would reach up, savoring the fleeting freedom of motion when his body wasn’t being pressurized down into the silken insole. Yet inevitably the toes came back down, hugging him yet tighter into the mushy tangle of wrinkled nylon and toe flesh.
By the time the second hour rolled around, Sam wasn’t even beneath the shafts of Rachel’s toes any longer. She’d arced and curled so many times now, casually popping the joints of her elegant digits and flexing her soles, that the little man had slid under the upper slab of her foot, where the arch peaked on its lowest point.
The ball of Rachel’s foot was where Sam now found himself marooned, or more accurately, beneath it. Even through the sheer nylon, he was conscious of the oily gridlines making up her footprint, as well as the higher density of flesh padding in this ovular region just below her largest toes. Again without speaking, Rachel seemed to mark Sam’s arrival under the proper of her foot by lessening the weight just enough to let him sift into position. Before he could plot out a battle plan to resist this new adjustment, the giantess had him poised squarely under the rounded hillock of the ball: the pinkest, meatiest, most supple portion of her sole.
A deep sigh emanated from somewhere high above. No verbal indication was given, but Sam had to guess Rachel was remarking subtly on this amusing little victory. She’d transferred him from under the relative safety of her lithe toes and into the danger zone under her heavy foot, and barely had to try to do so, while he fought tooth and nail with zero success. Then Rachel’s foot settled back into place. Her heel pivoted, squashing and massaging her sole into the velvety basin, and most of all, twisting Sam’s inch-high frame around under the lightly swollen curvature of the ball of her foot. Air was at a premium now. A few fractions of an ounce of pressure more, and Sam could be broken. Coarse stocking fibers dragged and ground on his little face, weathering his clothes and even popping the microscopic buttons; his nose and mouth were flooded again with the stale, leather-tainted odor of his tormentor’s most powerful weapon. The very thing he’d lusted over not long ago, a foot which he only had the opportunity to see after the irony of Katelyn’s outburst over his innocent fun with her feet, and now look where it got him.
Never could the man have dreamed, out of all the possible outcomes, he’d end up here, under his lawyer’s actual foot, inside her giant shoe, while she nonchalantly went about her business above like nothing was wrong. Was this even a “possible” outcome? Sam doubted it. Not twenty-four hours ago, he would’ve paid $5,000 dollars to know what these specific bare peds felt like on his naked body, particularly below the belt and wrapped around his cock. Now that his entire self could fit snugly under the muggy bulwark of the shape, though, he was seriously reconsidering that desire. He’d pay that same amount now tenfold to go back in time and never learn of Rachel’s name.
Just around the time hour number three came around, though it felt much longer to the hapless incher in Rachel’s shoe, that colossal foot began to shift. There was more permanence this time, as she wasn’t merely teasing him by arching her toes and tucking him further under her foot. Rather, the gigantic lawyer took hold of her heel, planting it to the carpet, and popped the back out of her heel out of the leathery mouth. From there, it took just one smooth tug, and the monstrous mass of her foot escaped from the blackness. It happened so swiftly, it was almost hard for Sam to believe something so heavy and strong could move with such grace, until he remembered it was just a foot, and moreover, he’d spent most of his trial ignoring the judge and watching Rachel’s lovely peds dance under the table.
So of course she could take off her shoe and leave him inside with no effort. The woman was remarkably dexterous, able to dangle the heel from a single toe, or remove her foot from the shoe without crushing him in the process. God knew what else she was capable of. While this one skill was useful for Sam’s continued survival, her talents couldn’t all be good for him. He was certain of that, and that certainty made him shiver in his bones, even after three straight hours of being pressure-cooked under the uncaring top half of a woman’s sweat-frosted, nylon-clad foot. Whatever point she was trying to make, it had only made him angrier, but he also couldn’t deny the anxiety he felt now. It was a foreign feeling.
“I’d say you’ve earned a little midday break, squirt,” Rachel said. “Better hold still another second, though, unless you want to twist an ankle.”