Before there was a chance to get comfortable in Duval’s hands, Sierra found herself being lowered and then deposited. The palms separated gently so that Sierra was left behind atop a rich brown surface, a landscape unlike anything she had observed, but was immediately familiar. The pair of building-sized monitors and the road-like keyboard made it clear that this was a desk used by the overseer, an intriguing enough location as far as Sierra was concerned, but it was more than just another spot for Duval to write notes in. At a far corner, Sierra noticed a tall picture frame displaying a row of colleagues in a lab -- Duval was one of them. Around that same picture were other memorabilia from college and previous jobs.

I’m on her desk, Sierra realized, circling around in awe. This is her personal desk… This is where she sits all the time…

“Sierra?” Duval interrupted Sierra’s daze, figuring she was disoriented only from the movement. “The shower is right up ahead there. Do you feel well enough to be on your own?”

Sierra had to catch up to the page Duval was on. She hadn’t listened to her before when she was first lifted from the living room, too overwhelmed and regretful at the time. But the same habit from then persisted now as well, and she found herself nodding instinctively. The last thing Sierra wanted to do at this point was to be any more of a nuisance to Duval, so she agreed to something that was not only undesired, but even unsettling. The prospect of being alone in a titanic world was eerie, even if it was the relative refuge of Duval’s desk.

Having already agreed to the terms, Sierra only then took notice of where Duval had pointed her to. Unlike the mundane nature of everything else on the desk, there stood a structure intended for tiny people, marked with first-aid symbols across its white walls. Multiple stalls came equipped with plain mattresses behind privacy curtains, not too unlike the changing rooms, but one of the stalls instead had several shelves of medical items. In a circular chamber of the structure, there was the shower, which was primarily what Duval had brought her there for.

Sierra held her injured arm nervously, stroking it for effect. She hoped Duval might take pity on her and decide to stay, but that was a dashed fantasy when she turned to see the gigantic figure distancing herself from the desk. She wanted to reach out for her, to cling to her, but she gravitated instead to the safer middle of the desk.

“I’m just going to finish up with the others, and then I’ll be back,” Duval explained. Her hands were clasped together, her fingers fidgeting under the elastic tightness of the gloves. The thought of the rest of the community always tugged her attention back in their direction; she discarded her gloves onto her desk, needing her hands to breathe. “In the meantime, you can change out of those clothes and get washed up. Relax your arm in some hot water, okay? I’ll be back, I promise.”

Sierra again felt the pull to call out to Duval, but even if she had the courage to do so, she assumed it wouldn’t have mattered. By the time Duval was finished speaking, she was already moving to exit the office, Sierra’s voice too tiny to reach her. The moment Duval was completely out of the room, a vacant cold replaced her.

At least there was hot water, and plenty of it. Sierra worried she might drain the emergency station of all its water, but beyond a certain point, she didn’t care one way or another if it did. She had her reservations at first in regards to stripping naked, but a curtain draped over whatever the fogged glass did not blur, and so it was only her personal worries that she had to overcome.

“That wouldn’t stop her, if she really wanted to look,” Sierra said aloud. The spray of the shower, constant and droning, drowned out her volume. She entered her thoughts, enticed by little ideas. She imagined Duval’s finger intruding past the curtain, just so she could peek at her naked body. She imagined Duval going further, and lifting the entire emergency station into her hand, tilting it so Sierra would slip out. Sierra laughed before submerging her head into the sprinkling water; ridiculous ideas, but she couldn’t rinse them away.

Instead of cleansing her thoughts, the hot shower was only adding heat to the fantasies Sierra enjoyed. She sighed and leaned against the wet wall of the shower, her back sliding down it like a drip of water. Her smile, which she hadn’t noticed, was washed away. “What was I thinking? What did I think would happen…?” She shook her head, pulling back a soaked strand of hair. She must be so pissed, she continued to think. But, I’ve never seen her mad before…

That, too, was a tantalizing dream. Her eyes closed, and she imagined the overseer standing over her at the desk again. She imagined a glare, a scowl of disapproval, as though Sierra were a mischievous pet being scolded. She imagined what she’d do; would she punish her? Her legs fidgeted and a grin wanted to grow on her lips. Cute, she admitted, picturing that nasty look directed onto her. A chill shivered her skin, so she stood under the shower again, letting the steam blanket her.

Duval had the power to punish her in any way she decided, a fact that entertained Sierra endlessly. She could be detained under a glass on her desk, propped up like another decoration for her workspace. A finger could keep her pinned to the ground, regardless of how hard she pushed back with her entire body. She could be ordered to clean Duval’s shoes. “Haha!” Sierra erupted, rinsing water over her dumb grin. “Duval would not do that.”

But she could, she thought, too eager to visualize that scene. Two enormous high-heels of that signature blue color, freshly removed from Duval’s feet after a long day, with their toes directed at her like notched arrows. “If you want my attention so badly, then cleaning my shoes should be an honor,” Duval would say in this fantasy. Sierra would have nowhere to run, which itself was far from a viable option. Duval was a giant, a genius -- a goddess, Sierra humored to herself, her stare becoming blank but her grin shakingly persistent. “Do you not like cleaning my shoes? After all the trouble you gave me, you won’t even do that? Maybe you’d prefer to massage my feet?” Duval would continue to say, her foot lifted over Sierra and her toes teasingly flexing.

Sierra bit her lip and opened her eyes, returning dully to the shower she was sitting in. Her right hand was cushioned between her thighs, clasped there like a trap. She sighed, noticing that the heat was diminishing, and that time had passed since she began cleaning herself. Any minute now, the overseer was expected to return, and this was not the position Sierra wanted to be found in. The water was stopped and a towel was donned.

A bench was where Sierra had tossed her uniform, but she approached it only then realizing a problem. “... Did she not give me any other clothes?” Sierra dragged the towel over and through her hair, looking around the corners of the station but finding nothing suitable to wear. She pinched the track jacket and the shirt worn underneath it, but they were damp with sweat, splattered with mud, and stained from grass. The clothes were thusly unpinched as Sierra hoped for something better to wear. For now, she would have to wrap a towel around herself.

Curiosity lead Sierra to the privacy curtain where she could peek outside. There was no sign of Duval, and her office chair lay empty in the exact spot it had been left at. A wet first step took her past the curtain, and another had her exit the station entirely, down an incline and onto the cold floor of wood. Like a portal, leaving the safety of the shower had transported her into a large, vacant world, as though the normalcy of a shower was lightyears behind her.

Sierra’s finger clenched the towel-robe tightly as she continued more onto this otherworldly terrain. She always expected a surprise, something to startle her, but only the infinite silence unsettled her. She was alone with everything else on the desk, tingling that urge to explore. It may have been a fairly normal desk, but it was Duval’s desk, and everything atop it belonged to her. Before her thoughts could get riled up again, she dismissed them with a firm shake of her head.

The keyboard, as prominent as it was, captured her interest first. She neared it hesitantly, keeping an arm stretched out so she could stroke its side as she got close. If she wanted to use it, for whatever possibility arose, it would be a scrambled dance to get from one key to the next. It was like an intricate movie prop, but Duval would be perfect for it. Sierra looked to the black chair, its curved and modern design a flare of that intellect she loved in Duval; the overseer sits there everyday, Sierra thought to herself, casually pounding her giant fingers into giant keys without ever thinking about how huge each motion would be to her tiny subjects.

Does she think about that? Sierra wondered, moving to be middle of the desk beneath the keyboard. On the other side of her was a cliff, the drop off the desk, far more intimidating of a fall than what she suffered from the coffee table’s leg. I can’t believe she left me here alone… I could fall from here if I wasn’t careful, and maybe a little dumber, too.

She peered over the edge from as far away from it as possible, both hands keeping the knot of her towel tight against her chest. The fall was even steeper than she envisioned, but her imagination colored those fears much differently. If she was sitting here and I fell… She glanced at the black chair, this time injecting Duval into the scene. As giant as she is compared to her, that fall wouldn’t look so bad; Sierra would drop, but land somewhere on Duval’s lap, even between her thighs if she was really lucky.

Sierra then stepped back, her foot flinching forward when she felt the wrist rest of the keyboard. She kept that image of Duval in mind, causing herself to blush. Where she was standing was a particularly interesting place, by her calculations, for if Duval was to ever lean forward onto her desk, or scoot in too closely, then it was there that her boobs would brush and squeeze against the desk. Sierra chuckled, wondering again with a blush on her cheeks if Duval ever recognized this perspective. She couldn’t possibly, Sierra assumed. It’s just me that thinks about this, getting jealous about a desk…

Sierra continued her adventure through Duval’s desk, thrilled by this subdued sense of danger, and with the fun of having nowhere to be and nowhere to go. Despite her tiny size, the desk only went on for so long, and many of its items couldn’t be interacted with. She discovered then the two latex gloves that Duval had earlier left on the desk. The pair sat between the keyboard and mouse as plastic lumps, like deflated hot-air balloons. It was a silly thought for Sierra, but there was an intrigue roused in her core that was no joke.

… Now I’m jealous of some gloves, Sierra mocked herself, choosing to be honest. No matter where she went, her thoughts were always plagued with Duval. The desk was a curse, constantly spurring these ideas of the overseer looming over her, luring to the surface these desires Sierra had inside her. It wasn’t right, she had told herself, to fall head over heels for the overseer. They had a professional relationship, she understood well, and that had to be kept sacred. It had to, but perhaps that was part of what made these feelings so electric.

She knelt onto her haunches, her profile made smaller. She huddled towards the opening of the glove, lifting up a fold so that she could see more inside of it. It was dark, of course, and the material was difficult to lift, but Sierra perceived as much she could. There wasn’t much to see, but her heart was beginning to race; the slight glisten of palm sweat, the wrinkled stretches from being used, and a very faint aroma that was distinctly sweet. Candy? Sierra first thought, licking her lips. Cherry and vanilla, perhaps from a hand lotion, or the soap she used from her bath? Maybe something she ate, something she touched?

It was Duval’s scent, whatever it was. Personal, private, and pitiful; it was the sweat of the overseer’s hand, and Sierra followed by the pull of its hook. For a few hard seconds, every doubt and little itch of anxiety was silenced, and she just acted, crawling into the glove as best as she could.

But once those few hard seconds ended, the guilt broke out in a fever. “Ohh, my god,” Sierra, you’re being a dumbass, her conscience attacked her. She was beyond the point of being too ashamed, however, and she only nestled herself in deeper despite the regret. You’re going to get caught being a freak. You’re going to embarrass yourself so badly…

“Whatever,” Sierra had to convince herself. A huff; the argument was over. It had to be ended, so she could appreciate her predicament. She gasped, and thus cost her precious clear air; the humidity was fairly thick, and the glove did not breathe well, but it was mostly her own euphoria that asphyxiated her. When she closed her eyes, she could immerse herself into a new dimension, an atmosphere that seeped through her body with a real, humbling warmth.

Her armed twitched. “Urk,” she winced at a stinging pain. At a horrible time, her injury was flaring up. It made sense that it did, considering how she laid made no accommodation for her arm. It hadn’t been a complete lie that she had injured it. Truly, she considered this a wonderful excuse to stop herself now. That weary hand, after all, had a mischievous purpose, and it could have been a warning that she would be ahead of herself to follow through -- to actually masturbate inside the used glove of the overseer.

Yet, Sierra couldn’t stop herself. She hurried into a better position, using her left arm instead. She inhaled deep draws of the scent, each huff directly making her wetter. Her left arm snaked through the material of the glove, realizing along the way just how much moisture from the glove had clung to her. Her hand hungrily reached for her crotch, the last shivers of hesitation only teasing her appetite.

The first entrance into her pussy felt like a welcome, a deviant acceptance to the world she immersed herself in. Shame came over her, but the routine of fingering herself relaxed her nerves. Her heart pounded like a drum, a beat playing in contest with the rhythm of her hand. She was drowning in Duval, and the level of desperation that got her here only excited her as equally as it humiliated her. She was doing this to herself, putting herself not only in danger, but in outrageous embarrassment, just to satiate this craze of lust, this obnoxious obsession she had developed.

“Look at you, in my hand,” Duval whispered into Sierra’s fantasy. “You’re touching yourself-- you’re getting off in my hand! This must be a joke!” She shivered accurately in response, but being lectured only turned her on more. If she made a fist, her hand would swallow me, she imagined. I could be crushed in her hand… She knows that I’m at her mercy… That she could just end me, like an insect…

Her legs quaked, and with little kicks, they spread apart. Her injured arm was worse with nothing to do, so she endured the pain of moving it onto her chest. Once in position, she could relax again; all she needed were her fingers to stroke her breast, tickles against herself as she delved into wonder once more. “Your chest seems quite small, hmm~” Duval was dreamed to say, even capturing that curious hum she often made. “Is it just because you’ve let me shrink you? Haha~ not quite. I know I have a bigger bust than you normally, but now if we compared…” She groped her breast tighter, forgetting the pain entirely. “Ahh, my fingertip takes up your whole boob. I suppose it’s your turn. Is it even possible for you to lift up just one of my breasts? You’re young and energetic~ Let’s experiment and find out.”

Sierra flinched, her breath held harsh in a gasp. The lack of air aroused her in how it placed her so well into that position of being suffocated, trapped underneath Duval’s breast. “Ohh, I see… It’s impossible after all. Even my nipple could knock you off your feet, so I’m not surprised. Is it difficult to breathe? Are you having trouble breathing under my boob, Sierra?”

Like an urge to cry, Sierra pulsated closer to release, a climax with so much potential, so much riding on it. This was a spectacle to be absorbed, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Her mind warped quickly to another fantasy, her fingers gently pinched at her clit in anticipation. She breathed, basically choked, and that dread inspired her next dream.

“We need to build up your lung endurance if this is how weak you are,” Duval disciplined. Sierra imagined her releasing her from one prison, only to unveil another to behold. She wanted to gag herself, humiliated with where her imagination had decided to take this; Duval’s high heel, only after it had been stripped free from her tights-clad foot. She was held precariously over its opening, until a merciless overseer allowed her to fall. She stumbled into a fit at the toe, but before she could recover, a shadow cast over her. Between her and the mountain peak that was Duval’s disappointed expression, there was that gigantic foot, capable of crushing entire homes but being dedicated to Sierra and Sierra alone. “I’ll keep you there for a few hours, so conserve your energy.” The foot lowered, the row of toes twisting on their approach. “Is this enough attention for you? Was this worth giving up your size? Your freedom?” The foot slid easily down the slope of the heel, an avalanche that consumed Sierra. “You wanted this all along? To be stepped on by a giant, older woman? You really do deserve this punishment…”

Sierra fearlessly moaned in a heated spasm of pleasure. Added to the moisture of the glove were her own fluids, a messy conclusion that dripped down her crotch and had been smeared randomly along the latex. Had it not been for such a blissful orgasm, Sierra was sure she would have fainted. Instead, she was alive with a rushing feeling, her noises becoming triplets of giggles and laughs, each tinged with a little sourness of self-disgust. Sierra felt completely lost in a dream, convinced this couldn’t have happened. She wished it had been just that, an unreal story to wake up from, but so too was she thankful it was real, so grateful this was something she could experience.

“That was fucked up, so fucked up,” Sierra panted, her body starting to cool. But then it shivered, only seconds after the tension was ready to fade. She was on edge all over again, but for a shockingly real reason. Beneath her, she undoubtedly felt it, the rumble that was iconic for everyone at the community. Footfalls, each one an assault on the tiled floor they trekked upon.

“Ahh, I’m finally back, Sierra. I’m sorry, I really am, but that Chase wanted to argue, and I just had to put everyone back first.” Duval entered the room with her explanation already running. Sierra couldn’t watch her, not while paralyzed inside a used glove. She could only make a guess to where Duval was by the intensity of her steps; they neared terribly close to the desk, but then passed just as quickly. Sierra concluded correctly that Duval was not immediately coming for her, but instead moving around the room.

How that helped Sierra, she was trying to figure that out herself. It wasn’t as though she could make a break for the emergency station, or that she could come up with an excuse for being naked inside a used glove. She closed her eyes tightly, shutting out the thoughts of being found like this. I knew this was a terrible idea, she said to herself, boiling with frustration but still frozen in her position. Now what do I do?! How the hell do I explain this to her?! Why did I--

Panicked thoughts hushed the moment she felt the footsteps creep closer. To her dismay, Duval was approaching the desk, but nothing could prepare her for the next instant.

A scream of a gasp was let loose when all at once, the cave that was the glove began to collapse around Sierra. She scrambled frantically to hold onto something as her world was being lifted, grabbed into brutally unaware hands. The first fold of the latex she latched to wasn’t enough, and she slid through the material until a better attempt was made. She hugged onto a line of latex, but her arm immediately gave in when its injury was pushed upon. She slid again, another shriek as she believed these were her final moments.

But she managed to survive, grappling the elastic band of the glove’s exit as she was about to fall out. She hugged the material with an arm and both legs, the other arm deadweight and only stinging with more pain as her whole body jostled about from the confusion. Although she knew better than to look down, she had to when she felt her towel disappear from her body. It had been unfastened, becoming a white speck in the empty air, a prelude to Sierra’s assumed fate.

Sierra shrieked, “Duval, I’m here! I’m in your glove, Duval-- Please!” Tears welled in her eyes, one dropping into the abyss to never be seen again. She despised how ridiculous she sounded, how desperate and pathetic her cries were. This was all because of her lust, her perversion; this was her punishment, as divine as Duval appeared to be to her.

That punishment, Sierra soon learned, was to be disposed of. She shuddered, which nearly cost her grip on the glove, when she saw understood where Duval was headed. Below was a gray wastebasket, a desolate bin half-filled with crumpled documents and old gloves. Sierra envisioned herself stuck there, abandoned like actual garbage by the woman she loved. Her skin crawled, realizing that this was no simple imagination like earlier, but the very future ahead of her.

Adrenaline raced through Sierra to come up with an answer, refusing to just become trash in an office. She groaned through the agony of moving her weakened arm, absolutely needing it so she could make her ditch-effort escape. Instead of staring down in defeat, she looked to the behemoth above her, the fist that held the gloves. It was a dangerous feat, but climbing to the hand was her only option, so she forced herself upwards. The latex material was at least easy to grip, but the constant bouncing and swaying from Duval’s movement put her at risk of falling each time her grip had to loosen. She tried once more to scream Duval’s name, but the overseer was deaf to these cries, as she would be with any tiny person she was unaware of.

Finally, the last reach to Duval’s pinky had arrived, and with only a second to spare -- the fingers were uncurling just as the wastebasket was directly below. Sierra genuinely prayed, an awful and gruesome vision of the fall flashing in her head. Doubts were dispersed as Sierra focused everything on a single, strained jump. She leaped off the glove, her legs a wheel in the air, and her one good arm stretched as far as it could--

“Duval!!” Sierra shouted. Her other arm flung itself forward, and around the bend of Duval’s pinky. She had succeeded, but it was far from over. Her grip was uncertain, not quickly adapting to the texture of skin nor finding a particularly solid place to hold. Her legs kicked to find a surface of their own to cling to, but she lacked the athletics to pull herself up.

The fingers had released the giant gloves, allowing them to plummet gracelessly into the trash. As the pinky shifted position, Sierra was pushed to adapt, scurrying around the finger until her fatigued body was hugged tightly around a fingernail. These were her final moments, she thought, and regret began to corrupt her. Maybe she could have survived falling with the gloves, maybe Duval would have found her there; now, those maybes had become falling to the hard floor, at the feet of a goddess that couldn’t hear her.

“I’m so sorry!” Sierra yelled, her grip only getting worse. “I’m sorry, Duval, I’m sorry! Please, I-I’m sorr--”

The finger she clung to desperately rejected her. A twitch, a small shake was all it took to remove her hug and send her into a freefall. She had no time to gasp before being surprised by the impact. She had landed somewhere that wasn’t the flat floor, instead onto a platform that caught her. The softness of the surface was immediately recognizable as a human hand -- Duval’s other palm, flattened out beneath Sierra as to interrupt her fall.

Sierra was completely stunned aside from her worrisome shivering. Opening her eyes was a nightmare, but she eventually did over the course of hesitant blinks. The sky was overtaken by a godly expression of shock and concern as Duval observed just what had latched to her finger. Neither could say anything immediately, not until they could catch their breath.

It was Duval to recover first, of course. She stammered as she looked back and forth between her hands and the emergency station, only able to guess at reasons as to why this had come about. “S-Sierra!” she exclaimed. “I-I told you just to take a shower! You could have gotten seriously hurt! Oh my goodness, Sierra, a-are you okay?!”

Sierra wanted to buckle down, face away from Duval and cry. Already she was being assaulted with discipline, and her tired mind couldn’t endure. She stuttered back to Duval while nodding her head over and over, “I-I know, I know, I’m so sorry, i-it was an accident! I’m so sorry!”

Duval’s sigh cooled her frightened emotions. Sierra was a panicked mess and that inspired greater sympathy from the overseer. “I-It’s fine now, Sierra, you’re safe,” she tried to assure her. She bit her lip, feeling the minuscule body trembling in her palm as she paced about the office. She cupped her other hand near Sierra, an attempt to wall off a distressing view. “I’ve got you now. I won’t let you fall. Err… b-but...” Duval closed her eyes, and when they opened, they were turned away completely. “H-How did you end up naked…? In my glove…?”

Sierra held her breath, stabbed by these justified inquiries. But it also dawned on her that she was, in fact, still naked. Her shivers ran about for a whole new reason, and she rushed to cover her red-tinted nudeness. It was hardly any help to have her arms over her chest and a hand between her legs; she was consumed in the overseer’s hand, her whole body grasped at once no matter where she twisted away to. Entirely choked up, she froze when expected to give an answer.

“A-After… the shower…” Sierra spoke slow enough to let an excuse be imagined up at the same time. “I… I didn’t have clean clothes… and it was really cold... I-I only went to your gloves because… they seemed warm, a-and I was only in there for a minute…”

“I see…” Duval was open to believing Sierra, her heart still aching for her and the ordeal she suffered. She closed her eyes again, building up the necessary charisma to speak seriously. It was a conflicting matter; strange as it may have been for Sierra to enter her glove, it was ultimately Duval’s fault for leaving her unattended. Something worse could have easily happened, had either her or Sierra been less aware.

Among her pacing, Duval stopped suddenly. She stood on one foot while lifting the other off the floor. Having been in a hurry earlier, she had removed her heels and walked only on her stockings, which had allowed her to feel what was beneath her. It was a white scrap of cloth, basically tissue, but under closer inspection, it was actually a towel, slightly damp from having been used, and now stuck to her sole. It was pinched with a slight tinge of disgust, and then risen high enough for Sierra to observe. Duval hadn’t noticed, but Sierra was keenly watching the entire time, surprised herself to see the towel had been found.

“I’m… assuming this was yours?” Duval asked, trying not to chuckle too much at the situation. “Let me grab you a new towel, a-and you can--”

“That will do!” Sierra bubbled, reaching high for it with her uninjured arm. “P-Please! I-I don’t care!”

“Umm, o-of course! Uh…” Duval allowed it, deciding to let Sierra have immediate control over her privacy. The towel was snatched from her fingertips, Sierra seemingly desperate to use it in covering her body as she did so in a haste. Duval watched as she robed herself, the awkwardness heavy in the air.