Unknown and Unlucky (Chapter 9)

I buoyed off the stocking bedding below, feeling more strung-out than ever. Another stifling like that, even a short one, and I’d probably last only half as long. Though the giantess had been careful not to squish any truly debilitating injuries into me, despite all this time spent pressing me underfoot, by the way I had to keep fearfully gasping for breath, it felt like I had a hole in my lungs.

            “If we’re going to have a conversation… and, let me be clear, I don’t think we really need to, but if you’re going to insist on it like this and keep me from using you the way you were meant to be used… then we’re at least going to talk my way,” the woman said, more gravely than she had before. “Don’t just blubber at me. You might be dumb enough to show off your fetishes on a dating app, but you’re also smart enough to put clear sentences together. I don’t like when dudes just send me disjointed two-word texts back once we get a match, and now I know I like it even less when insignificant little bug-boys try the same thing while they’re stuck under my foot. Understood? Slow down. Think hard first about whatever magic words you think are going to make me let you go. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I like to take things slow, planned-out, and I always do things my way. Who knows, maybe you’ll convince me? I mean, it’s not likely, but nothing is impossible. I think we just proved that by getting you to cum, even though you were also a few seconds from suffocating. So, talk. I’ll give you fifty words.”

            It was tough to want to converse after such a stern reprimand from both her lips and her foot. Additionally, I remembered what happened the last time I was given an open invitation to speak, and it was roughly the same as what happened when she didn’t want me to speak. Still, I was in no position to disobey, nor do anything for that matter except raggedly breathe and pray I was given long enough to recuperate so the next full-foot cover-up didn’t turn me into a stocking-dwelling mite.

            “I’m… sorry. That I… insulted you… or came on too strong,” I said, choosing every word like a step over a minefield. “I want to… make it up to you. If you can find it in your heart… to give me the chance to show how sorry I am… I would do anything… if only you let me live, and… don’t make me smaller again. I-”

            With the force of a collapsing building, that merciless and pithy sky of sole skin crashed back down atop me. While the stocking grains itched my backside again, swaddling my face in another blackout-inducing make-out with her dank arch and molesting my rod at the same time, I somehow found myself losing even more hope, when I was already in the negatives.

            “I actually gave you a couple bonus words there past fifty, just in case you ended that thought with something interesting. You didn’t, though, and rules are rules. So, you’re welcome for that,” the woman sighed, grinding me toward doom for the fifth time today. “But take my advice: if you’re only going to say those kinds of things, the kinds that are just going to give me a laugh and then make you go scuba-diving on my foot again, you’re better off saving your energy for the next lotioning. Seriously, don’t chance it. I can feel you losing the fight right now, and another bad one might just put you down for good. Well, “fight” is a strong word, for the same reason you can’t exactly fight… I don’t know, the Pacific Ocean, but you know what I mean, don’t ya?”

            Partway through her explanation, she released me from the second disciplinary near-snuffing. I was allowed to come unstuck from her perspiring skin and bounced off the slackened silk below, though my custom cock-leash kept me from straying too far outside the zone directly under the softest, muggiest swath of her sole. In spite of my breathing pattern becoming more jagged than ever, my bruised body left to quiver in an overheated stupor, I came away from her giant foot soberer than before. Centered. There was something eerie about being serenely coached toward the best course of action by the very same woman who was committing those atrocities on me with her damningly sexy foot, and my cranium was already befuddled enough as it was from lack of regular oxygen, yet I understood her rationale now. This latest smothering was the swiftest yet, lasting only five seconds, but it came closer to swooning me than any since the efficient trampling earlier. If my body had a battery, it was on its final sparks now.

            “Yes,” I solemnly whispered, again addressing her sole directly, the way one speaks to a chosen deity.

            “Good,” she replied: apparently either the owner of super-hearing, or able to translate the microscopic breeze of my words against her sole skin into language. With skills like that, she probably really did deserve to receive every ounce of asphyxiated worship I could muster. “Then maybe we’ll even start to get along, and by that I mean, you’ll get really good at shooting those tickly little loads EXACTLY when I want my foot lotioned, and not a second early or late, because if you don’t, you’re going to go through another anti-growth spurt. Oh, and also another fun breath-holding game, I almost forgot that part. But I bet you didn’t. And you won’t ever again.”

            Resigned, I didn’t move a muscle to speak or rebel, even when I saw her sole descending to remold its totalitarian doughiness around my defeated shape. Her warning had activated something primal in me that cut through the dread and the sorrow, an instinct to stay in one piece and keep what little air was I was occasionally permitted. For this reason, my dick was already beginning to stiffen before it was even burritoed back between sweaty wrinkles for another foot rape, racing my lungs against my erection.

            The stocking cinched to my spine, creamy sole flesh bulged over my face like an airbag, my precious oxygen depleted, and a drop of exhilaration shot through my center.

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THE END