Falling In (Chapter 4)

Well before he’d even been inside her shoe for an hour, the little thing was thoroughly saturated in Betty’s salty underfoot secretions, which drenched through his clothes and itched on his skin, only to be replaced every few seconds with another sloppy burst. If not for his efforts at first to keep his mouth shut, he might’ve drowned in the stuff. All of these calamitous conditions ensured that Milo was made to survive exclusively upon an air supply made of nothing but the ponytailed titaness’s ripest boot-pickling exertion, as that stink fogged from her pores in just as grand an excess as the dirty fluid itself. Like every element currently assaulting his senses, there was “more” of this to deal with by a mile than what had already overpowered him last night. But now that he was finally smelling the real fruits of Betty’s labors, worsening stride by stride, and not just sniffing up the half-dried leftovers in her vacant boot after a long day, it felt like he was gasping his way into a whole new dimension of her acerbic grunge-caked bodily essence. It was wilder and sicker than any singular ingestible stench he could’ve imagined, until he was already pitifully huffing it inside that broiling squished-taut void between the giantess’s grimy boot insole and her sumptuous ever-flexing toes. By all rights, Milo should’ve been floundering for his life in abject panic, or puking himself stupid while stuck on this fust-bombed roller coaster.

But he wasn’t. Instead, once the initial distress wore off, and he more-or-less settled into the tempestuous groove of Betty’s spirited walkabout, that same hankering from the previous night took center stage in his brain, only even stronger than before. Milo was, against all odds, loving this. Beyond that, even. He couldn’t get enough of Betty’s colossal foot: its incredible weight, its meaty give, its molten climate, its ever-unfurling stink, its spewing perspiration, or the way it hammered him on repeat into that greasy boot insole until he started to feel like he might become a permanent fixture down here. There was no longer space in Milo’s head to question why every ordinary desire and survival instinct within him had now been retailored for this masochistic subjugation inside the boot of a gigantic woman who still didn’t know he existed. He wasn’t even bothered by concern for the rest of his three-inch-tall civilization, while Betty casually stampeded all over their homeland. All he cared about was submerging himself in every drop of foot sweat and gulp of airborne scuzz he could, while just passively hoping that Betty remained as obliviously fixed on whatever it was she was doing up there, until he could make his getaway later.

Though even once the eventual opportunity presented itself at day’s end for Milo to flee to safety, assuming he hadn’t either asphyxiated on her coarse stench or been discovered and slaughtered by then, he wasn’t sure it would be so easy as to just run away. The longer he inhaled Betty’s mawkish toe-crevice perfume while invisibly smushed beneath grinding toe curves, and gradually even allowed rivers of her sweat to leak past his lips for depraved guzzling, the more he wondered how he’d ever lived without this celebration of oozing underfoot musk before today. While the danger of being lethally caught in here remained, Milo decided that if the giantess hadn’t noticed his occasional squirms against her skin by now, she was never going to. Either that, or he just needed a twisted excuse to let himself start savoring this experience in full, the perils be damned.

Barely halfway through the day, any survivalist pretense still within Milo was officially dropped. No longer trying to disguise his invigorated writhing beneath Betty’s toes, he cuddled himself up as tightly as he could against their moist doughy undersides, inviting them to grope him via every impact or scrunch. He didn’t just deeply inhale, but binged the withering stench and perspired droves alike with his jaws wide-open. Latching his lips around the sweat-weeping orb of Betty’s second toepad, Milo tongued and suckled at that waterlogged foot flesh as if it was the only thing keeping him alive. That brine-rich elixir scorched his throat and teased his gag reflex, but more importantly, it flushed him top-to-bottom in an electric rush of hyper-charged endorphins. Every instant, Milo was either drawing in a breath of Betty’s salted rankness so deep it made him spasm, or nursing endless sweat directly off the spongy prune-wrinkled terrain. His three-inch shape, folded in so obediently to that curvy pocket constructed by her neighboring toes, was harmoniously subject to every flare and curl those digits enacted mid-stomp, but he was no longer uncomfortable with the slippery rapid-fire tensions he endured on a heartbeat-by-heartbeat basis.

All of it, no matter how burdensome or nauseating, first and foremost left him deliriously euphoric. And eventually, sensorily stuffed on Betty’s gunky foot smog, while his helplessly puny body was bombastically humped in place below her sweaty digits, nature began to take its course. His ragged pants (now soaked skin-tight in a dozen-odd showers of the giantess’s perspiration) tented furiously, allowing his desperate hard-on to slot conveniently into the marshy cleavage between her third and fourth toes. Though still clothed, Milo’s movements were so synchronized now with the pulsating thrust of Betty’s digits, and his wasteland garb itself so sodden through with her gnarly runoff that he might as well have been naked, satisfaction was only a matter of time. He bucked and busted to easily the greatest finish of his life, still without the six-four giantess taking notice of him. But even then, she wasn’t through with him, albeit unknowingly. The three-incher’s refractory period barely had the chance to end before those juicy pressure-swollen toepads were plumbing his loins back to life again.

Meanwhile, Betty was also basking in the middle of undoubtedly the best day of her life, only without any of that violent chaos thrown in. She’d been working for hours now, diverting only to drink and refuel herself when necessary under the beating sun, and otherwise moved through her lengthy list of protocols in a dedicated fervor. Every sample she’d taken and test she’d performed in the valley so far came back with promising early signs. Only when Betty had performed each possible stage-1 settlement zone task on her agenda, and set up her new campsite, did the girl finally take pause in the late afternoon to sit down and catch her breath. Eager as she was to continue, there was literally nothing else she could do for today, while still waiting for some of her toolkit test results to take. Plus, once she actually allowed herself a moment’s respite, she realized just how weary she was now, not only due to the summery fever reaching its late-day peak, but the ambitious enthusiasm which had pushed her to keep exerting herself so relentlessly. Betty had never felt so worn-out in all her life, and though the end result was worth every instant of her effort, she supposed it would be wise to call it quits, now that there were no more possible discoveries to make for today in this idyllic valley.

Or so she thought. Sore, blush-cheeked, and sopping with sweat through most of her blue uniform, the Emissary dropped cathartically onto her sleeping mat. Then, unstrapping her boots and jerking the right-side vessel off her damp puffy-fleshed ped first, Betty planned to spend a few minutes reposing here before she headed back to the river for a much-needed bath. But all thoughts of relaxation or cleansing were swiftly forgotten once she’d let her poor size-14s out of their constrictive prisons, following so many hours of bottled-in humidity turning them into sweat well reservoirs. Automatically, she turned both boots over above the sand, whereupon the waterfalls of surplus perspiration splashing out were followed by none other than a three-inch-tall young man, every bit as ultra-saturated as her feet themselves, falling out into the light and landing messily in the newly-formed dirt pool of Betty’s pungent leakage. At last, she saw him.