Jess's Way (Chapter 1)

“I wish I knew how many times you lot were going to test me. I really do. Then at least I’d know whether I’m going to have any bloody patience left to deal with any of you by the end. Honestly, sometimes I think I’d be better off just getting it over with, and squashing you all dead right here and now, so I wouldn’t have to deal with the aggravation anymore,” Jess explained with a disaffected simper. The eighteen-year-old prep school senior spoke more as though she was complaining about an improperly made cup of coffee rather than the graver matters she was in fact addressing, as she stroked her chin and looked down upon the quivering huddle of inch-tall victims she’d made into her property give-or-take a week before. The dainty yet powerful fingers of her other hand drummed ominously on the tabletop just beside the terrified folks, whose tearful gazes were forced to flit rapidly between the dark-haired titaness’s purse-lipped look of withering disappointment and then back to the black leathery mouth of her gigantic hard-soled slip-on shoe, which was currently capsized on the surface beside them. “…so I’ll just say this one last time, even though none of you deserve my manners, in case your ruddy little brains all rotted to nothing when I shrunk you: Get… in… my… shoe. Now!”

            Humiliated, disbelieving, and near-pissing themselves with the all-too-believable dread that they might die or at least be broken into a quadriplegic state within the next few minutes, the seven shrinkers Jess currently had collected on her bedside marched tremulously toward the cavern-like entrance of the lovely but deceptively totalitarian lass’s footwear. The fabric-lined interior was still warm and sunk beneath their feather-weight steps; the air inside was sticky with the lingering aroma of fruity lotion overpowered by stocking-wrung sweat. Four of the seven were vague-acquaintance classmates who’d refused to tell her the location of a weekend party. Two were street passerby who’d accidentally bumped into her. One was a geometry teacher who’d given Jess poor marks on the last exam. Their former identities, however, scarcely mattered now as the one-inchers obediently crawled toward the patches of tape the giantess had already taken the liberty of affixing along the stagnant stained insole of the boat-like vessel, and pressed themselves willingly into the adhesive until they stuck, knowing firsthand that if they refused, they’d only be jammed there anyway by Jess’s thumb (and probably break a bone in the process).

            “Now, that’s more like it! Well, I suppose it’s just the bare goddamn minimum, anyway, but that’s about all I’ve come to expect from any of you, so… congratulations,” Jess sighed, bored already, as her mind was already more preoccupied with the social and academic obligations of the upcoming schoolday rather than the suffering of her helpless pets. Once her shoe was full of taped-down playthings, she lowered the shoe to her bedroom floor, but didn’t yet put it on, or even threateningly grip the backend of the footwear between her colossal toes. The giantess was already garbed in her school uniform, a white collared top and navy skirt that all complimented her curvily supple yet not quite over-generous figure, but was still missing two pieces of the ensemble. “See, if you would only do as I tell you, when I tell you, we might all get along so much better. And whatever good reason I had to shrink you originally… although, I’ll be honest, I don’t care enough about most of you to remember exactly what that reason was… you just might start to make amends. But no, you just have to make proper little gits of yourselves, ignoring what I want and pretending you still have any choice in your worthless lives. So I’m sure you’ll understand why I’m going to wear you in my shoes for longer today. Say, four hours more than usual? Just to see if that helps jog your memories about who owns your asses forever.”

            While the shoe-bound folks wept at the thought of their underfoot future before it was even enacted, Jess was already busily stretching out a fresh nylon and fetching more inch-tall occupants from the jar prison they’d been sharing, though like the stocking itself, these people were fresher additions to the giantess’s collection, as of yesterday. Thus she didn’t have the time to start their training like the folks down in her slip-on, but saved herself time by plucking them between her thumb and forefinger and plopping them, screaming, directly into the wide-open silk maw of her hosiery. When she had a heap of three of them piled in the toe section of the velvety tube, the texture soft but impossible to climb back up once they’d dropped within, she repeated this unorthodox decoration with the matching nylon using three more shrunken classmates, strangers, and teachers, until these novice one-inchers were left to grasp at the plush mesh of her luxurious legwear like jailhouse bars and wail for mercy, though Jess was already too busy lowering the first stocking into range of her balletically pointed toes to notice or care about their pleas.

            Jess’s tender peachy-smooth wholly-overpowering monolith of a bare foot descended through the netting of her hose, digits playfully flaring as they unraveled the opaque tunnel en route toward the first three cowering souls at the base. The shrinkers alternated between continuing to howl for help and simply quaking in place, but their reaction hardly mattered, as they drank in one final glimpse of the immense pithy-wrinkled slab of her deeply contoured sole arching overhead before it brutally overtook them. The elastic yield of the stocking prevented the three from being injured too severely once Jess had pulled the nylon taut down her leg, causing their tiny bodies to go pathetically spread-eagle wherever they were now pinned beneath the meaty crease-laden heft of her foot’s pink underbelly – one guy was even unluckily clenched between pale ticklish toe shafts – but the wind was still knocked out of them, and their frames totally immobilized as they descended toward the slip-on below. The taped-down toys lining the shoe’s insole and the stocking casualties alike all gave one final collective screech, begging Jess to reconsider, but there was nothing they could do to stop her from sliding her newly nylon-clad foot into that black leather loafer, and in doing so, sandwiching the one-inch parties mired on the saltily fragrant footwear strip and those stuffed inside her stocking all together in a pressure-cooker of heat, pitch-darkness, feminine musk, and finally a force that felt like it could’ve rivaled a car compactor for devastating potential.