To the Victor Go the Spoils (Chapter 4)

###

            “…and once the mass shrinkage began, something these former sovereign nations were wholly unprepared to counter, the transition became much more… peaceful,” Georgia’s history teacher stated with a sly smirk, earning a giggle from the whole class. “As we all well know. Onward, then, to the next chapter, which discusses the special collection methods that were developed to more efficiently gather these populations into the ownership of the United Kingdom.”

            Georgia only half-paid attention to the lecture, though. The blonde’s gaze occasionally flitted to the front of the room, before settling back on the far-more interesting surface of her desk again. Normally she had trouble giving any focus at all, but the subject matter was at least marginally interesting today. Nevertheless, so much talk about shrunken international losers, particularly from America, made it impossible to keep from distracting herself with a more hands-on demonstration of history.

            No less than four of her inch-high pets were penned on the tabletop by a short fencing of her books and cell phone, with three huddled fearfully together in pants-pissing dread. One tiny loner, however, having been Georgia’s property for less time and therefore mistaking her lovely deceptively-innocent countenance for naiveté, made a run straight for her. Jumping from the other three sides, after all, would’ve meant even more certain suicide. Amused, the girl allowed him to actually reach the soft edifice of her uniform-garbed abdomen, and even take a flying leap at her stomach, before her thumb and forefinger snatched around him. After eying the teacher, Georgia enclosed the puny man in a gentle fist, then rested her hand up against her mouth as if to appear like she was intently following the lesson.

            “You’re a naughty one, aren’t you?” she whispered too quietly for anyone but the creature entombed in her palm flesh to hear. Georgia’s tone was cheerful, but quickly twisted to an unmistakable growl: “You’ve got a lot to learn about the order of things. Aren’t you listening to the teacher? You and all you American lot are nothing but losers now. You are toys. And if you don’t play well, there’s no reason not to just break you and find another.”

            Having sufficiently paralyzed the man with terror, Georgia puckered her lips and spat a blob of drool right at the helpless being in her softly-opened fist. The force of the gloop bound him down, and after the giantess clenched her hand around him - albeit only enough to bruise, rather than break, as she’d threatened - she inconspicuously plopped her spit-logged plaything back on the desk alongside his three wiser cohorts. Despite the better behavior of her pets, Georgia couldn’t help but wear a wider grin, as the lecture shifted to specific historical accounts of volunteers like herself going abroad and entering “abandoned” American homes to find and capture the miniaturized populace. Gripping a pencil, then, the girl alternated prodding the rubbery blunt end and the sharper business end at the tiny quartet almost close enough to spear them, all while enjoying their flinches and backpedals.

Meanwhile below the surface, having patted down her navy-plaid skirt for modesty’s sake, Georgia had crossed her legs, keeping one foot in its snowy tights hovering merrily in the air, with her black slip-on dangled only off the silken-cloaked ballast of her toes. Along the otherwise cream-smooth fabric slope from her heel to upper sole shelf, several inch-long bulges writhed for their lives against the restrictive binds of the giantess’s sock which kept them all compressed starfish-style to the youthful plain of her foot flesh. At least two were crammed into the slightly-mustier embrace of her digits, still veiled in the shadow of the shoe mouth and its leathery warmth, and provocatively squeezed by the pudgy tips of her digits each time the teacher mentioned something derogatory about the U.S.A., which occurred frequently.

Keeping her eyes on the teacher, and performing every playful act as innocuously as possible, Georgia reached under her desk with the pencil and stroked the eraser along the socked span of her pithy arch. Finding the first squirmer, she pressed the pink mound to their back and began to press and twist, ensuring the panicked one-incher was even more tautly compacted against the pale doughy terrain of her gingerly sweat-misty sole. To any outsider, it might’ve only appeared Georgia was idly scratching an itch on her foot, as she systematically sought out the lumps of her unlucky sock-dwellers and teasingly probed them with the pencil, savoring the sensation of their bodies hugged so close to her skin that she could almost feel the features of their worthless little faces contorting with sobs.

“Don’t worry,” she murmured to the four on her desktop, dipping her chin just low enough that the teacher couldn’t see her lips move. Bearing a conspiratorial half-smirk, Georgia raised the pencil back up and used the wooden midsection to bowl them all over like pins. “You’ll have your turn in my socks, too. Maybe after P.E. class. I’ll probably have lots of sore spots for you to rub. And whoever does the best job won’t have to spend all night in there.”

By now, several of Georgia’s surrounding classmates had begun to take notice of her desk-pets, and started stealing envious glances her way. While the bratty golden-crowned giantess ordinarily would’ve prided herself on this attention, and probably even punished the toys with greater severity just to make a more entertaining show for her peers, she reluctantly scooped her palm around the four before the teacher could notice the hubbub she was attracting. Luckily, the miniscule entities cooped in her white tights were more easily kept discreet. A couple keen-eyed girls diagonally behind her seat row had also spotted what was happening in Georgia’s sock, though, and longingly scrunched their own toes in their regretfully-unpopulated shoes, wishing they had the kind of spare pocket money which had surely bought their classmate all those amusing little prizes.

###

            Charlotte yawned luxuriously awake, stretching and massaging herself beneath the sheets. It was only when she idly scrunched her plush pink toes down against the ball of her foot, trapping a particular American troublemaker’s head in a clamped vice of earthy sole flesh, that she remembered he even existed. As her smile immediately returned to a frown, Charlotte allowed the runt to wriggle desperately for his life for another minute while she checked her phone, before at last pinching the lip of her stocking and working it down her leg to retrieve him. Finally, fishing him out of the musk-perfumed silkiness, the giantess propped her foot up over her thigh and held the quivering slave up close.

            “Well, you disobedient little shit. Do you see what I see?”

            “P-Please…”

            “TELL me what you see there. Right here, where I’ve got your worthless face pressed.”

            “D-Dirt.”

            “Exactly. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe I told you I wanted my foot spotless by the time I woke up. Yet here we are, and it looks like you haven’t done a damn thing. Do you really disrespect me that much? Are you really this unafraid of me?”

            “I tried!” he screeched, in panic-tears now, and for good reason. “I g-got everything I could! T-There was just so much, and-”

            “Shut up,” she scowled, plastered her thumbpad over his annoying face, which instantly muted and gave him cause to seize again. Meanwhile, Charlotte was inching toward the edge of the bed, propping one nyloned foot and one bare over the edge. “I don’t know why I keep giving you Yank losers so many chances to impress me, when I know you’re too stupid and lazy to take the opportunity. Lucky for you, though, you won’t be asked to clean my feet anymore.”