Big Time Espionage (Chapter 6)

Concurrently with the three spies who were undone by the giantess’s left foot, the rest of the team members were suffering their own variety of awakening just off to the right. Delta, Echo, and Foxtrot had since adjusted to the darkness and near-airlessness under that impromptu hotbox of her capsized flat after it fell over them, as the only sense it felt like they needed now was smell, and that one was working better than perfectly for all three. Much like the half of their team, they’d all but forgotten about one another, after splitting off in different directions through the blackness and only stopping again when they ran into the upside-down hull of the shoe. All three gave into the same temptation, with throbbing bulges in their pants to match, and their throats opened as they grasped double fistfuls of sweat-drizzly lining along the leathery tomb for support. Then they busied themselves huffing up head-spinning overloads of oozy afternoon-putrid foot musk from the walls, with the odor so thick that it almost took on liquid form separate from the greasing of leftover perspiration caked into the flat’s grainy material.

But this peaceful solitude couldn’t go on forever. Having savored a short rest while lying flush to the floor after its previous subconscious swing, the giantess’s right foot eased back into motion, and in one halfhearted swat, knocked into the side of her fallen shoe again while using her pinky toe to help tip it over. Luckily, the threesome of spies currently imprisoned under the flat were already white-knuckling the filthy fabric inside due to the fervency of their inhales, since that surprise impact resulted in a stupefying revolution right-side up again. Now Delta, Echo, and Foxtrot weren’t just caught under her shoe, but rather inside it like a sunken zoo pen meant for keeping in miniscule carnivores. Still, even having their worlds literally flipped over didn’t deter the trio of professionals for more than the few seconds it took to find their footing again and then mash their unmasked little faces right back into the claggy stink-rich wall of her shoe. Or at least that was the case, until a more obtrusive interruption to their horny brain-melted activities arrived in the form of the violet-haired Xartanian’s svelte right foot abruptly flooding up the vacant space within her not-exactly-unoccupied flat. As if she was going to put it back on.

Echo had coincidentally chosen to extract that lint-jammy stench from the toe section of the shoe like an overzealous butterfly getting fat off floral nectar, and so he bore the heaviest impact when those toes correspondingly barreled straight for him. The impact was significant enough that he blacked out for a few heartbeats, coming to again now laid flat on his back, just in time to scramble up and throw out his arms as a pointless brace before those beefy toes whammed back into him – gentler this time but no less stoppable in their momentum. To and fro, the giantess’s digits absentmindedly stroked across those five grayish sweat-malformed imprints in the shoe’s basin created by hundreds of weighty wears. She seemed to be flirting with fully slotting the flat back onto her foot, but never quite went through with it, instead simply nudging her toes just deep enough inward to graze that northern concavity of the pliable vessel, then dragged her toes backward again.

Foxtrot had set up his personal sniffing camp in closer proximity to where the ball of her foot would rest: a position that meant he wasn’t bowled over by the giantess’s toes as they arrived back inside the warm shoe unannounced, but instead was trampled right over by their squirmy mass and laid out flat in an ear-ringing daze. So as those digits began unknowingly toying with Echo by bumping him into the wall again and again, Foxtrot was made to roll beneath those withdrawing shafts like a puny lump of misshapen clay. It was impossible to gain any purchase or steady himself, since every time he nearly did, the woman’s foot would sway again, causing him to epileptically spin below her toes as if he was tumbling down a steep hill, wholly out of control. Yet as the two spies faced treatment at her toes that, any other day, would’ve had them warding off panic while fighting for their lives to avoid further manhandling by this dominating far-stronger entity, each of them was able to go limp and obey the flow of her burly digits squinching and smushing at them both from different angles. Within seconds, Echo and Foxtrot were even enjoying themselves, and found the raunch much purer when they breathed it straight from the giantess’s tepid apricot-pink skin, rather than the stagnant fluid-gummy walls of her abandoned footwear.

Delta only just avoided getting pancaked under the battering ram of her foot when it entered her shoe, because he’d chosen to huff that luscious poison from the heel curve of the flat. Still, his fixation and libido for the disregardful giantess’s feet had grown every bit as fierce as what Echo and Foxtrot felt now, which meant he wasn’t about to watch her enchanting shoeplay from the sidelines. Abandoning his handhold on the southern extreme of the shoe, he feebly waddled toward the danger zone, where that foot was making an unconscious game of slipping in and out, up and down, along the length of her flat while unknowingly bullying a trio of brainwashed stench-drunk alien spies. First walking hunched over, then scampering on all fours, and finally army-crawling with his face against the foamy semi-warped ground of her insole, Delta made his way as close as it was possible to get to the range of her foot’s lethargic swooping without actually getting kicked in the noggin by those toes. And in the process of keeping low so that he could better observe her broad sole while enjoying its palpable momentum with each forward thrust, his randy endearment began to shift from the giantess’s meaty arch itself down to the bedraggled basin of the shoe.

How could he have taken his eyes off it before? He’d been lying beneath the thing for a while now, but with light actually filtering inside the right-side up vessel, Delta could truly appreciate the unintentional artistry of the grievously stampeded insole. The little spy wasn’t just perched upon a vast footprint here, but a shallow crater shaped by the roundest weightiest provinces of her bare underfoot anatomy, darkened charcoal-hue and rendered permanently stenchy from the repeated grinding-in of her weary essence. It was like a massive fossil eternally honoring the beauty, the filth, and the flavor alike of this oblivious stranger’s gorgeous ped. Tears formed in Delta’s eyes in the way of an art connoisseur first observing a one-of-a-kind masterpiece in the flesh. Though that effect could’ve just as easily been on account of the lime-acrid intensity of the sweat mist rising from the crusty squished terrain whenever it was plied with the slightest pressure, like fragile bog earth ready to give way to steam fissures at any moment. Whatever the reason, Delta was overcome by appreciation for the Xartanian’s crumpled brittle sweat-recolored. With his hard-on practically breaking out of his pants, he flattened himself as low as he could lie, face-down, and began showing his devotion in the only way he could think of – with jaws open, tongue smearing, and every heady breath consisting of the grisliest material-eroded stink.