To the Victor Go the Spoils (Chapter 5)

The inch-high American didn’t have time to hopefully question this statement, as Charlotte released her grip on him from a perilous distance above the ground. He plummeted, screaming, and landed painfully on the carpet, crippled and scarcely conscious. The giantess quickly saw to his pain and suffering, however, as the same foot he’d failed to adequately cleanse was descending swiftly upon him. First swallowed by a shadow, and next a weighty island-slab of pale soil-and-secretion-flecked underfoot arch, he became an unrecognizable crimson goosh in the same split-second Charlotte loudly stomped on her bedroom floor.

            “Well, this is much more like it. Brilliant, at least someone can follow simple directions!” she chimed, after removing her opposite stocking and discovering the Russians had successfully tongue-bathed her humid filth-baptized soles inside the grainy mesh. Charlotte cradled them all in her palm, appearing sincerely like she meant to reward their efforts as she dunked them all through a basin of water for a hearty rinse, right up until she raised the first wormy shrunken Russian to her lips. “Congratulations. You have my thanks, little ones, for doing such a marvelous job of cleaning my foot. That must be communism at work, right? In keeping with that spirit, I think it’s fitting you all receive the same fair end.”

            With that, Charlotte popped the first Russian atop her tongue like a living sweet, violently suckling and tossing him cheek-to-cheek before gulping him down, alive and whole. Each of his comrades received the same treatment one at a time, though each fought hard to resist. The last even managed to claw his way back toward Charlotte’s lips and press his arms through the wet cushy seal of her maw, only to be licked roughly back into the abyss by a single sticky swipe from her beast of a tongue. Her predatory side was tempted to start masticating through the things like a wild animal, but was ultimately cancelled out by her disgust at the notion of having their viscera stuck in her teeth. And so Charlotte contented herself with the tickly sensation of each hardworking toy pitifully protesting his inevitable slide down her slimy throat.

            Still, on closer inspection, the girl realized that although the Russians had done a better job of worshipfully licking up most scraps of loam and afternoon perspiration, there was a glamorous slightly-tacky sheen of night sweat polished over both her soles. The result of using such heavy bedsheets, she decided with a shrug. Not to mention there was now a liquefied American in need of removal. This could all be easily remedied, however, and Charlotte didn’t have to think long before selecting the box from her shelf where she kept her Chinese shrinkers. They in fact had survived as her pets the longest, not because she was any less tempted to stomp and squeeze and nibble them to nothing like the little American bastards, but because they’d so far done the best job of following her orders.

            “Both sides. I want them sparkling clean,” Charlotte stated simply, sitting on the bed again with both bare feet nestled on their sides, inward-facing, and the box of Chinese miniatures dumped in that sour-scented wrinkle-fleshed canyon between them. Maybe most of all, she appreciated how little communication was actually required here. Almost none of her Chinese property had ever tried to argue with their fate, and the one who had served as a delicious lesson to the others.

            Right away they got to work, using their mouths, hands, and knees in efficient fashion, almost as though they’d choreographed this sole-purifying dance. They not only caressed and pampered Charlotte’s peds, but dutifully lapped up and swallowed every bitter floral-vinegary drop of night sweat glossed on the pith-rich pads of her soles. Not a peep of complaint was heard.

            “All right, all right. I think I’ll keep you all around a bit longer,” the giantess sighed with satisfaction. “But I make no promises.”

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            “God, this place must be expensive…” Kate whispered to Charlotte across the table.

            “Well, maybe it costs more than if they only had tea and biscuits on the menu,” Charlotte shrugged, while plunking two sugar cubes and a screaming inch-tall American into her steaming cup before bringing it to her lips and gently blowing. “But let’s face it, the little shits are still cheap. Especially when you come here on ‘Americans’ day. And besides, I don’t mind buying, after I heard you say you haven’t owned a single one before.”

            “You looked at me like I said I went out walking without pants on.”

            “Might as well have! You can’t imagine how much you’ve been missing out,” Charlotte gasped. She took a long sip from her beverage, the guzzling noise of her lips overpowering the shrieks from the little man swirling in the scalding liquid, until he went completely silent upon being slurped into her gullet on a foaming cataract of tea. Licking her lips, she simply scooped another little man from the nearby bowl and dropped him into the liquid as a replacement.

            “Sorry, I guess I have been a bit out of the loop lately,” Kate replied. Though perplexed at first by the sight of her friend’s dietary choices, she warmed quickly, watching with great intrigue as the next tiny victim was whirlpooled about the cup before also making a voyage into Charlotte’s mouth. This one was savored longer, though, his thrashing body occasionally visible between the brunette’s lips as he was ruthlessly swished from cheek to cheek. “So, this place really just sells them by the dozen for… what, just adding them to your tea?”

            “No way, you silly thing,” Charlotte giggled. Plucking another man from the bowl, she scooted her chair out from the table far enough for Kate to see, then propped her leg up on the bench, and doffed her black slip-on footwear just far enough to toss the miniscule fellow into the tepid shadow-space between her stockinged heel and the shoe’s basin. Once he landed, she quickly pushed her foot back into place before he’d have the chance to attempt escape, smiling wider as his diminutive limbs cutely battered the velvety-stitched wrapping around her pale malleable sole. Pointless, as usual. “They also make fantastic arch support. You might not think it would work unless you had enough of them to carpet your whole shoe… but even one gets the job done surprisingly well. Of course, if you prefer, you can just pop them in the tea, like you said. Much as I like sugar, I’ve actually come to prefer the way they sweeten the pot, especially when they’re upset enough to cry. See, the beauty is, once you’ve bought the little thing, it’s yours to do with what you want! So why don’t you give it a go?”

            Charlotte flexed her foot in the slip-on where Kate could still spectate, scrunching her toes and making the black leathery hull of the shoe squeak with friction, while muffled sobbing from underneath her mighty nyloned ped in that dank musty slit of space could just barely be heard over the clatter of spoons and glasses from around the restaurant. Once satisfied with where she’d repositioned the unwilling occupant of her footwear, Charlotte promptly lowered it flat to the ground again and gave it a tap for good measure, just to knock the more annoying fight out of the one-incher inside. All this her friend watched intently, biting her lip and going glassy-eyed with contemplation.

            “So what’s it going to be?” Charlotte offered, pushing the bowl of shrunken Americans closer to her friend. “Remember, it’s my treat, so take as many as you like. Are you thinking comfort, or culinary?”

            After another moment of thought, Kate muttered with a sheepish smile: “Maybe… one of each?”