The shrunken boy couldn't say for sure when Larissa stopped walking and came to a merciful standstill again for the start of first period. Perhaps he'd been bludgeoned into a defensive sleep for a while, because when he became fully conscious again, he was no longer being stepped on, but simply pinned flat in a peacefully resting shoe, with his face forcibly nuzzled into the crumbling insole again, while the redhead's pearlescent sole draped over his puny body to ensure he had no other choice.
Finally, when the hope of escape was temporarily yet decidedly killed, could Ted get truly ahold of himself enough to take in his surroundings. Namely, the damp, mealy odor permeating the air and seeping thick into the shrunken lad's lungs with every miniature gulp. Sheer adrenaline had kept him from really noticing it during the initial entrapment between sole and slab, but now that he had plenty of time in mind-numbing solitude to notice, it was all he could think about. The stench was precisely the same one which had fatefully caused Ted to be caught in the first place by detecting its whiffy, oily notes and banging his head on the chair.
Except now, the smelly effect was multiplied exponentially. It was truly astonishing in its potency. Like black smoke unfurling from a forest fire. It wasn't even necessarily that it was disgusting beyond comprehension, though it certainly was grim, but rather how densely the smell packed into the thin sliver of space between Larissa's heavy foot and her unmoving clog floor. Every trace air molecule was composed more of feminine hormones and foot-slime than it was oxygen, which was already tainted by sweaty vapor as it was. Not to mention the disintegrating leather and polish of the insole itself, which had been soaked over probably-hundreds of occasions by oozing salt water and the gruesome impact of Larissa's purposefully heavy footsteps. Like an undying ember, the essence of this stinging reek had to be reignited every time the royal redhead slipped her foot into her faithful clogs, cooking the materials anew in heat and porous brine.
And Ted was right at the center of it all.
Never in his life could he have dreamed that his whole being would be funneled into such singular focus on one object, and that object being the lovely, yacht-sized underbelly of a foot belonging to the church choir's hottest young spitfire. Without sound, light, air, or even bodily awareness, it seemed more and more that this prodigious sole was the only thing that existed now. Ted's entire reality had been compressed down into this pocket-universe within the itchy, punishing, brackish, alluring underworld of Larissa's foot-packed shoe, and the tender swath just beneath her supple sole, to be exact.
Trying to wriggle his way out was a bust. It took several minutes of back-breaking labor to even advance a few millimeters along Larissa's sole, and really, the boy wasn't even certain he was going the right direction. He did his best to judge based on the geometry of the girl's arch, and where it began to level off in the direction of her heel, but his senses were foggy at best, and when Larissa was sitting at a desk with her feet flat on the floor, the fleshy slope was negligible. Then there was the fact that, once Ted really started thrusting and managed to travel an inch at the expense of most of his energy, the act was answered with instantaneous justice.
Larissa lifted her leg off the ground just enough that her clog's rubbery mouth could dangle buoyantly from the elegant obelisk that made up her foot. This bought Ted a second's reprieve, once he'd untangled himself from the nude mesh coating around the girl's steamy skin. However, it was impossible to make use of that time, let alone get his head on straight enough to see which direction the light was streaming in from, before his vengeful peer brought her foot careening back to the carpeted floor.
As it was only an inch, and the classroom floor consisted of soft shag, Larissa's gesture wouldn't have registered to outsiders as anything more than a muted thump of her shoe. Ted's story was much different, though, as he collapsed flat under the oncoming wall of meaty, blushing sole padding. This made being walked on feel like a harmless pillow fight. Since Larissa had scrunched her sole to its puffiest capacity, the cushioned shape of her arch had essentially vanished, replaced only with swollen pink wrinkles and bunched-up nylon netting. As a result, the inch-tall toy below felt as though he'd been buried under a giant parade float balloon, give or take a few thousand extra pounds, in a brutal half-second span. He didn't even have the air left to gasp as he was pinned back to the insole, and this time, Larissa didn't let up.
For several agonizing minutes, the redhead exerted incredible pressure down on her foot. She twisted and pivoted, pumping her clog like a gas pedal, or just plain squashing it with most of her might. It had to be at least somewhat awkward and tiring for her to keep this up while seated in class, though it still couldn't compare to Ted's misery. No part of the boy's tiny body wasn't subject to utter numbness that still somehow managed to pepper his consciousness with needle-like discomfort. Violently fondling sole wrinkles were in constant flowing and refolding flux above him, catching in the sticky binds of the used stocking, but never failing to roll hard over his vulnerable head like hardy ocean tides composed of raunchy, feminine skin.
In so little time, from when he was first captured by Larissa to now, he'd constantly had to correct his perspective on what the "worst" experience under her foot could be. Every time Ted thought he'd found it, the girl proved just how much rougher things could be. First it was being pat-a-caked from sole to dangled clog while inverted on the kneeler, then it was the unknowable isolation of being affixed but not quite stamped during morning announcements, then the cruel trudge of being catwalk-marched upon to the first class, and at last there was this, the new winner, as Larissa put effort into grinding her living plaything along the ratty battleground of her clog with a sole as beautiful and unforgiving as the girl herself.
The effort to pressurize her foot down on the boy so tenaciously and for so long was clearly getting to Larissa. The girl never visibly broke a sweat in public, let alone had a single ginger hair out of place, but that was just the façade she put up for the mere mortals who surrounded her. Down below in the trenches of her clogs, where her feet were working hard to grate a boy with her sole-crammed nylon, things were much different. Before, there was already a mucky stench and light frosting of sweat coated over the squishy inner sanctum of the shoe. Now, with physical strain being poured into the act of crushing Ted just short of actually turning him into goo, Larissa was heating up.
As her pores opened wide, her pale smudged flesh turned from slick to outright moist, and the gathering warmth and stuffiness just increased the effect. All of this, too, while she was smothering Ted under her foot. The boy was treated not just to a tremendous beating from her sole, but a revolting bath in her swampy juices, sluiced through the soggy nylon and drip-fed onto his body. His shrunken clothes were so heavy with her sweat, they were on the verge of tearing off like wet paper, and his body wasn't doing so great either, pruning and getting sorer all the time. Predictably, the musty smell of before had evolved into a ripe and full-bodied pestilence. Yet Ted had moved beyond disgust or even pain; Larissa pushed him down so hard now, the boy had gone loopy and extended his consciousness into a zone where he was only aware of the intimacy and unholy pressure from her deadly arch caving in on him at all times.