Unknown and Unlucky (Chapter 6)

All I could do was listen, try to process, fail at that, and then wait while short of breath for the next edict from her foot that might or might not dictate whether I was still alive in the next few minutes. Indeed, I knew logically that I was being spoken to by an ordinary woman, and probably one of average height, yet because she didn’t want to divulge anything of herself to me, even her face, all I had to go on for reference was a two-hundred-plus-foot-long sole: aromatically sour-sweet, flecked with sweat-crusted lint, emitting heat that wetted the air, a living canvas of pillowy curves on display, and now clenching new wrinkles that showed off the meaty muscle beneath the pink cellulite the tighter and yellower they pinched. This was a whole giantess, yes, but as far as I was concerned, just as she’d decided it, her foot was now my everything, an entity unto itself. And it alone controlled my fate.

            “How does she want me to prove myself now, you’re probably thinking in that pea-size head of yours. Actually, no, it’s even smaller than that, isn’t it?” she continued. “Anyway, I’ve heard a lot about the soothing properties of you little pervs when used this way. A personal lotion dispenser, if you catch my drift. Sort of like having a portable spa with you wherever you go. It sounded gross to me at first, letting you have your weirdo happy-times with my foot, but the more I thought about it, the more perfect it seemed. Kind of poetic, really, since you’ve probably spent your whole life chasing after feet and only using them in a way that suits you, and now you finally can give something back. Honestly, this is what made me want to do all this in the first place, and the fact that it actually feels so damn good having you down there was just a nice bonus for me. I couldn’t really test whether it worked on the model, just the techniques, since the practice version of you couldn’t jizz, so we’re going to see if you’re every bit the fucked-up foot-lover you seem to be. But, I’m not worried about it. You probably should be, though. Worried, I mean. Now, just do your thing, stare at my foot, and breathe it in. Hard. The rest should come easy to you. I just hope I didn’t make the thread so tight that it cuts off the circulation to your pipsqueak cock… but, I guess that’ll just be a fun discovery soon, won’t it?”

            I don’t believe I’ve ever felt such simultaneous gnawing dread and ecstatic anticipation before. Despite all she’d done to me, and how clearly little she thought of me, this unseen woman with the largest and most sensitive foot I’d ever encountered was about to milk me in order to moisturize her heavenly sole tapestry. Still, it was impossible to forget not only the destructive power of that divine arch, but also the consequences even of surviving another assault on my air stores. She wasn’t currently pinning me down against the base of her shoe, as I could detect dim light flowing up through the portholes between the nude weaving, and the stocking was just loose enough that even my paltry weight, light as a ladybug, could make it sag enough to keep me at arm’s length from the widespread valley of her sole. I expected that to change soon, though, with an atomic body-slam against an insole that would sandwich me into either erotic bliss or shrink-inducing choking, if not both.

            Instead, however, far down the line at the tip of the silken legwear, I could see her bulb-ended toes, thick and ripe as hand-fruit the size of boulders, curling into view just under the inverted horizon of her sole’s upper shelf. The quintet mischievously balled and unballed, playing peek-a-boo with her quarter-inch captive, and each time those five adorable yet deadly curves bobbed into view, I could see the entire ecosystem of her sole flesh altering in even greater clarity than when there was a sheer stocking separating us. A whole color-wheel of skin tones flushed in and out wherever new wrinkles mushed into place then ironed flat again at the disappearance of her digits, only to reform in fresh patterns the next time.

            Hypnotized by it all, I did as she asked, watching the subtle fireworks of her pumping arch and dancing toes. And I breathed in everything as well, as the trance she’d put me in had relaxed my pre-tensed frame enough to let my lungs completely inflate again with the full-bodied flavors of her omnipotent foot.

            The grunge was more intense this time, the air stewier and stickily redolent of sweat, of course because I was smaller, but there was something about it now in my current size which made it easier to appreciate, if only in the way a bug has to appreciate the boot hanging over it. For every fusty layer of salt-and-vinegar perspiration aerosol making up the in-stocking atmosphere, there was a new zest I’d failed to notice while double this size: hints of beach sand and suntan lotion in that perfume of hers, or the juice in the melon of that sporty soap. The smell was stronger, as everything was about a foot of this scale, but so too were the admirable qualities, the human filth and oily nylon-jam intermingling with the fruitier and more exotic bouquets, until I’d adjusted, taking all my oxygen exclusively from deep calm inhales of the most secretly intimate scents on a woman I didn’t know the first thing about otherwise.

            I’d let the aroma meld with my airways so totally, and allowed myself to get lost in the rhythmic pulsating of such a generous sole as one gets lost in an art museum mural, I’d actually ceased to think of her threats or my height, but evidently the stranger had greater plans than passing the day with only my vigilance to her foot. The next time her toes scrunched into view, it was to the greatest extreme they could reach, not only turning the whole flesh plain of her arch into a crease-farm, but upsetting the balance of the stocking at my back.

            I noticed this just in time to see her digits flaring apart far enough to let excess fabric slip into the crevices between, and she only delicately re-pinched them, intent as she was upon capturing plentiful mesh in those deep grooves astride her extremities. Once she had a firm grip, then, her toes bucked up again for a balletic point, while simultaneously, a great stretching force was exerted from behind, likely because she was tugging the stocking up the back of her calf, and that’s when everything fell into place.

            Specifically, my dick fell into one doughy sole-crimp and my face into the adjoining roll.