To the Victor Go the Spoils (Chapter 6)

Charlotte couldn’t have grinned any wider. Wanting to strike while the iron was hot, she selected two helpless residents of the former U.S.A., one man and one woman, and held them out to Kate. As her friend still seemed unsure, Charlotte took the liberty of tipping her hand so the shrimpy screaming woman slid off her fingertips and cannonballed into the sweltering tea pool, while the little man was pinched between a thumb and index for the descent toward Kate’s strappy tan sandal. Trusting Charlotte’s enthusiasm, the newbie propped her foot up on the same bench, while using her spoon to stir some milk into her cup, which she poured directly over the tiny woman’s head.

As Kate picked up the tea, then, slurping a trickle between pursed lips and getting goose bumps from the frantic battery of the shrunken female’s arms against her mouth warring to avoid getting drunk down too, Charlotte tenderly guided her friend’s toes to splay upward, creating room to cram the mini-man beneath the ball of her foot. Kate was only too happy to comply, undoing the top strap of her sandal to make it easier to insert her first-ever bite-sized underfoot passenger, before pinning him aggressively to the insole when she practically slammed the sandal heel-first toward the floor. A sickly crunch was heard between the worn leather platform and her cream-smooth sole.

“Oops,” Kate murmured under her breath, a tad embarrassed. She was so distracted, she hardly noticed the inch-tall woman tumbling into her mouth and disappearing into her throat a second later when she took a long draw from the cup. “I… didn’t know how hard was all right to step on him. I suppose not that hard. He probably can’t exactly be much of a cushion now, can he?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Charlotte laughed, reaching into the bowl again. “I bought us plenty! Squish every last bastard one of them, for all I care.”

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            “Now, isn’t that a laugh?” Charlotte’s smile widened as she slowly lifted the treads of her Doc Marten off the forest floor to see the bottom, peering over the rim of her sunglasses for a better view of the bloodied contents now decorating the middle of the harsh black boot sole. Sure enough, it wasn’t a leaf crunch she’d heard, but that of a stray American. And a soldier, from the looks of it, difficult as it was to be sure now given how thoroughly she’d mashed him.

            “All right, then, let’s get it over with. Where are the rest of you hiding?” Charlotte boomed. It had been months since she’d found any miniature troops still wandering the wilderness out here after the shrinkage left them all in hostile territory, and had assumed until now she’d exterminated the last of them.  Marching around the clearing, the giantess tied her hair back in a ponytail with her bandana, ensuring no distractions hung in her sightline while squintily hunting over the uneven terrain. “Give up, and I promise, I’ll do you in quicker. Like your little friend down here. He barely even felt that, probably!”

            She stooped above the roots of a tree, having heard rustling, and peeled back some shed bark. Sure enough, five soldiers each an inch tall were camped there, and with a horrified shout, opened fire right away on Charlotte’s descending open palm with bullets that admittedly stung her like slingshot pellets, but didn’t come close to breaking the giantess’s skin. The minute her hand closed around them, the shots ceased.

            “God, you lot would be stupid enough to shoot at a woman who could eat all your guns, and not even notice,” she groused, as she lifted all five men in her fist. “You do realize that for every shot you take, I’m going to add another minute onto the time it takes to finish you?”

            As the troopers powerlessly squirmed against her fingers, Charlotte hummed a cheery tune while one-handedly unlacing her left boot. Once loose, she pried her foot, clad in satiny dark-tinted tights, out of its black mouth and promptly dropped a screaming flailing soldier into the humid depths of the empty Doc Marten. She smiled in at him, while casually holding his brothers-in-arms up where they could see their helpless cohort stranded down on the slightly-sunken leathery insole below.

            “See? If you’d listened, I might’ve been nice, and just squashed you all so fast you didn’t even know what hit you. But, because you didn’t, and even had the cheek to shoot at me, we’re going to be taking our time. Say goodbye, boys.” With that, Charlotte raised her stockinged foot high above the boot, flexing her toes in a manner that let the elegant fibers slip into the pithy spaces between, and then plunged her vengeful ped back down into its fashionable footwear. Instantly the little man inside was tackled by inrushing toes, then rolled beneath them and made to impotently fidget while she clenched him in the silky grasp of her doughy toepads, though just cautiously enough to only break some puny bones and near-suffocate him. But Charlotte intended him to stay awake and alive most of the walk home.

            Upon seeing their friend vanish beneath the giantess’s unforgiving foot, one foolishly brave soldier managed to worm his way out of Charlotte’s fist and take a dive toward her boot. He was far too late to get inside to save his mate, only managing to grab onto one of the rope-like shoelaces as he fell, but was easily swatted away by a flick of their captor’s middle finger.

            “Disgusting little shit. I swear, I’d be happier to find a spider crawling up my leg,” Charlotte snarled at him. Cumbersomely, she re-tied her boot strings, while the fallen trooper writhed on the ground in pain. As it was difficult to knot while half her fingers were still trying to keep four shrinkers contained, she made it easier on herself by nonchalantly parting her lips, tipping her softly-clamped fist above her maw, and allowing one trooper to slip shrieking into the saliva-drenched cavern. With only three to pin in her fist now, she finished lacing up and returned to full stature.

            “You, I’m not even going to bother with. We’ll just let nature decide,” Charlotte said to the wounded shoelace-dangler. Promptly, she tapped him with the toe of her boot, strongly enough to snap more limbs and leave him weepily immobile on the forest floor where he’d likely expire from the elements, then marched onward without another thought.

Sucking on the man currently losing a wrestling match with her tongue, she plucked another fellow from her palm just before swallowing. Then, reaching behind her back, she tugged at the waistband of her shorts and burrowed the next victim down along the inner strip of her panties. Deeper and deeper she shoved him between the bountiful quadrants of her ass cheeks, acquainting him with the muggy tightness and musty crack-sweat odor, then gave herself an intentional wedgie with her undergarments, to ensure he remained imprisoned there, scarcely breathing and only a firm glute-swell away from getting crushed to death by warm cellulite.

            “And then there were two…” Charlotte remarked, beginning the slow trek homeward, while savoring the writhing bodies tucked both underfoot and where the sun didn’t shine. Frowning, she picked one man up by the leg. Feistily, he swung and kicked at her fingers, babbling something about patriotism and tyranny, which made the giantess chuckle, but only for a moment before she sneered again. “…oh, all right, congratulations. You’ve officially pissed me off enough that I’m going to deal with you personally, here and now.”

            Charlotte flung the soldier toward the ground, then, timing her step so a half-heartbeat after he bounced into a heap of leaves, the rubber underbelly of her boot came down on him, squelching him like a segmented insect into the geometry of her shoe treads. She smiled as the distinct grisly noise of his demise was interwoven with the calm crisp splitting of the autumn leaves under her strides, and then finally held the last inch-high survivor up in front of her face between her thumb and forefinger. Though dressed in his army fatigues, he was silently shaking and pants-wetting himself just like any other diminutive American she’d extinguished.

            “Well, that’s a better attitude, at least. Even though you are still going to die. But, maybe I’ll let you have a vote on how,” Charlotte giggled. “Does that sound fair to you, runt?”

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THE END (but surely not the last time we'll see some less-than-friendly international relations between bigs and smalls)