A Guardian's Ascension (Chapter 18)

Sophia was greatly tempted to say something first, either a word of fawning gratitude or an apology for the filthy state of her feet at large. Similar such self-deprecating over-thankful babbling had temporarily assuaged a fraction of her guilt several times before, in the repeated instances of her people’s overwhelming generosity, but for once the giantess managed to cork that noise before it escaped. Instead, she silently stared down at these eight earnestly-grinning faces – including that of her supremely devoted best friend – all of whom were quite obviously asking fervent permission to complete this task, both via the happy pleading in their expressions and the energetic insistence of their watery bodies still trying to force their way into those unclean toe valleys, despite the ginger clenching of each brawny digit on their arms. Then the giantess bit her lip, gave the slightest approving bob of her blonde-crowned head, and exhaled all that captive wind in the same moment that she flexed her ten bare toes into the agilest splay she could manage. Given that the eight eager attendants were already endeavoring so hard to squirm their way into these pithy-fleshed spaces while Sophia’s defenses were up and those damp shoe-grimed digits were compressed, those villagers practically body-slammed themselves inward when more ample access was reticently yet ultimately-contentedly provided to every nook and cranny of their heroine’s feet.

The sensation of those diminutive hands, wrapped in dripping cloth and zealously stroking the doughiest vulnerability spots on the fronts of Sophia’s tired earth-weary feet, was immediate and profuse. While the many workers administering warm soapy water to the tops of the giantess’s peds had already collectively inspired internal flurries of concern, surprise, and extremity-flowing comfort in the Guardian, Elisaben and the seven other toe-excavators instantaneously left an even grander impact than all the highly-valued rest of the villagers combined. Sophia feared their group effort might tickle or even irritate such sensitive regions of her body, but it did neither. Instead, refreshment and pleasure shot through her entire immense frame, from the perceptive clay-textured contours of flesh separating the trunks of her toes, throughout the bulbous pads of her digits and the lengthy crescent slopes of either naked sole, all the way up through the mighty pillars of her legs, her stomach and her bust, out to the furthest reaches of her fingers, her parted lips, and even individual strands of golden hair cascaded in swordplay-exhausted disarray down her shoulders. With each near-synchronized wet cosset of so many miniature clothed hands affectionately pressing against the buoyant V-divot of skin between the giantess’s toes, that gratifying luxury effect increased, causing loosened dirt to slide in sloppy rivulets off the altar of her foot, tingling warmth to pulse below the surface, and pleased goose bumps to cozily bristle over the rest of Sophia’s towering body.

The Guardian needfully tautened her dual-palm grip on those two nearby hillocks now, as one might ardently grasp the arms of a chair to keep from accidentally spilling out of the seat and onto the ground. Not that Sophia was at all afraid of her body’s momentum-rich enormity somehow sliding forth into the village proper without her express intention, nor was she anywhere near as tense as she’d been when this process commenced. If anything, in the strangest of turnabouts, she felt more harmonious right here and now than she had since defeating her first major incursion on-duty, when she’d been the surest of herself and her ability to protect the beings most precious to her, and still immediately prior to that first clumsy education on a Guardian’s less-obvious but just as valuable responsibilities to her charges. She was certainly fulfilling that aspect of her duty now, though, while so many friends and acquaintances faithfully labored as a united force to sponge-bathe her feet free of all smut, and it was beginning to feel so wonderful that Sophia actively wanted to resent it. But she couldn’t, even if she tried.

So instead the novice Guardian let her head roll back as she gazed across the illuminated tapestry of stars above, visible only now that the sun had finally set. With every drop of warm water that descended from her foot into the Earth, and each doting stroke of a nurturing micro-hand across her flesh, Sophia accordingly released the pent-up glory-defying tension she’d been unintentionally nourishing all this time like it was some sacred central tenant of her superior defenders’ teaching. Before, she would’ve played out all the most pessimistic of futuristic scenarios in her head, imagining and pre-condemning how her own placation to the village’s ascendant higher-value conception of her colossal self might eventually warp the poor souls and graduate their worshipful appreciation into literal divine worship of their giantess savior. Now, though, Sophia chose to close off all such unhealthily anguished projections, particularly those with little-to-no chance of ever coming true, and remained firmly present in the moment. Especially because it was such a borderline-rapturous moment in which to keep herself present, with the unforeseen pleasure of the volunteers’ foot-washing talents still thoroughly galvanizing the Guardian’s insides and showing no sign of diminishing.

Almost-entirely outside her own power, then, bellowed straight up into the star-speckled blackness of this industriously cheerful night, Sophia released a noise somewhere between a lyrical hum and full-throated moan. Along with this approving murmur that echoed pleasantly across the whole village and over the surrounding woodland, the reposed titaness also gave in to a blushing shudder that worked its way through her body in the reverse-direction of the citizens’ inflicted succor, starting instead from her shoulders and letting the wave of invigorating relief roll all the way down into her soles and toes. This sated quake, though softly benign by the seismic standards of bodily power Sophia was actually capable of displaying, was still sufficient to make both her gargantuan bare feet tremor noticeably beneath and around the many little villagers who’d chosen to mount and service them in thanksgiving. When she felt this effect take place, albeit a heartbeat too late to suppress it and keep herself still as a mountain, her reflexive compulsion – honed through those split-second protective instincts instilled by the Guardians – was to instantly cup both humongous hands alongside her insteps and rescue any of her people who were shaken from their perches. Or worse, the folks who might’ve overpowered and forcibly squashed down onto their knees by the inward contraction of so much water-logged giantess toe bulk, between which they’d wedged themselves for loving maintenance.

Sophia could have done it. Easily. She was fast and dexterous enough to catch any fallers in her palms, then pluck any scared-stiff workers out from her toe crevices before they could even cry out. Granted, that distance from the top of her foot to the ground wasn’t exactly dangerously alpine, even disregarding her total fifty-story height, yet it was still impossible to forget how utterly paltry in stature and mass these good people were in comparison to her. How horrific would it be, for little beings so hospitable and deferential as her grateful neighbors to come spilling off the sides of her foot, all because of her own carelessness, bashing their heads on the ground and twisting ankles and gasping for breath in the soap-intermingled mud while her temporarily-uncontrolled toes held their bodies in a pinched thrall? Maybe worst of all, they might apologize to her, and even beg forgiveness for interrupting the Guardian’s post-training barefoot rubdown. And all Sophia had to do to prevent such risk of mild injury or mournful submission on the part of her people was place both hands beside her feet, right now.

Only she didn’t do that. That pleasurable convulsion ran its course, the giantess’s melodic sigh reverberated throughout the valley, and Sophia initiated no panicky coddling of her many believers based on that slim self-defeating chance that disaster would somehow unfold thanks to her inaction. She felt many tiny hands, atop her feet and sidled betwixt her toes, briefly waver in their yet-predictable washing patterns, using the rags to steady themselves and ride out this fleeting vibration with unfearful resolve. Then as soon as the giantess had regained full command of her anatomy, and both tremendous soles re-established their durable rooting to the ground, the work carried on. No thrashing bodies went sliding off to the sides. None were hunkered for mercy in the sodden crevasses alongside wiggly digits. Not a peep was heard, not a single grunt of discomfort, nor did anyone on Sophia’s humid feet look up at her for more than the few instants required to see that the Guardian herself was doing just fine, before they resumed this collective lather-smearing tribute over every reachable curve.

“Thank you,” Sophia pronounced to all in a booming whisper that enveloped the whole village once again in a warming aural shield. Of course some pesky last impulse still quietly nagged at the giantess to temper these words by promising that her feet were already plenty clean, or by reminding everyone that they should stop this disheveling ceremony not a moment longer than they wished to take part. But the Guardian soon forced those excessively penitent thoughts down, this time with almost no trouble at all, and so full-heartedly savored her cherished people’s passionate grace and esteem, feeling their well-founded love with each wet stroke across her feet.

She understood.