Leah was ecstatic, rubbing her clit harder and harder, trying her best not to scrunch the toes of her left foot. Some tiny Monégasque could still be there, going to town between her toe gaps. She had a clear view of the others: below her enormous dripping pussy, basking in the pools forming on the hardwood floor; on her belly, watching the spectacle from the safety of her belly button or her tummy folds; or tangled in the forest of her pubic hair, where the most brave of them could experience everything from a dangerous distance.
The little freaks. Leah met them at the club. They saw her dancing there, from the plate-sized elevated platforms where the locals partied, safe above the stomping of the tourist’s massive feet. They waved at her, and Leah obliged, bending down towards the quarter-of-an-inch tall locals to greet them. The mere movement made some of them fall on their asses. The rest laughed at those, especially the two guys who were drenched by a fallen drop of Leah’s sweat. She chuckled coyly while observing them. They were a local football team, with their matching shirts and all. Mostly boys in their early twenties, with some girlfriends that eyed her titanic body and the pretty revealing dress she wore, some with awe, others with dear… and even with jealousy. Although they seemed to share a common feeling that Leah could appreciate when she zoomed on them with her phone camera to get a better view: it was lust. Cheerio-sized athletes in their prime and their equally impressive companions, lusting for her.
Jesus Christ, she really felt like a goddess. For once she really understood the tourists who behaved like all-powerful assholes everytime they stomped around Belgium. She was better than that, though. A benevolent goddess to Monaco. That’s why she danced for the diminutive locals, throwing them her nastiest moves, stomping with high heels big enough to end them all at once, gifting them peeks of her stadium-sized ass. They went crazy, of course. Leah ended up leaning on their platform, washing them with her agitated, vodka-tinged hot breath. They basked on it. Some of them, boys and girls, even threw themselves to her pillowy lower lip. The two guys still drenched in her sweat were eating each other out like there was no tomorrow. What the hell was going on in there? Leah’s groin was dripping wet, and she absolutely drunk with power (and alcohol).
That’s why he had that idea. She scanned her surroundings looking for Jean… and saw him up above, grabbed by an Icelandic guy twice bigger than them like he was a doll. They were making out violently, the huge mouth of the Nordic giant enveloping Jean’s whole face. After that he lowered his friend to his groin, and Jean proceeded to press his face on the huge bulge inside the Icelandic’s pants. It really looked that Jean was going to be busy the rest of the night. She’d just leave him a text. With that in mind, Leah made the Monégasque her proposal. The answer wasn’t unanimous, but it didn’t take long to convince some of the boys and girls. After the short debate, they all stepped into an empty mint box that Leah casually kept in her handbag, and she smuggled them out of the club.
She walked the streets she loved so much seeing from above, like rivers of light flowing in the darkness. Fuck drone shots, that was the real deal. The unpainted toes popping off her high heels were bigger than the cars, and she could see the vehicles bounce and rattle with each step. She chuckled, feeling bad for all the people she must have woken up with the deafening clicks and clacks of her heels. She playfully tried to tread softly on the ground. She was a benevolent goddess after all, and knew that the walk wouldn’t take long.
After that, she finally reached her AirBnB on the outskirts of the city. She kicked her high heels off, she took off her clothes, opened the mint box gently… and let the Monégasque fuck all over her massive sweaty body. Girls with boys, boys with boys, girls with girls, girls with boys and girls and boys. Swimming in her juices, tangled in her pubes… fuck, plastered in her toe gunk. Leah saw one of the tiny girls crowning the summit of her big toe, after what she assumed was a long climb on her bare sole. The speck-sized girl waved at her enormous face, before slipping and falling inside the gap of her toenail.
Leah laughed. A hearty, loud laugh that rattled the Monégasque’s world, made them roll from her tummy folds to her pubes, onto which they had to hold for dear life as she laughed and laughed. She kicked her feet, and the impact of the massive bare heels on the floor made the vaginal juice pools shake as if two meteors fell nearby. Two boys would be out of the football field for three months due to the injuries suffered when they, while masturbating together between Leah’s second and third toes, got smushed by the reflex of the huge digits curling uncontrollably. One of the girls would have plummeted to her death when falling from her leg if she hadn’t landed on the soft surface of a used sock, but she suffered hearing damage when the tons of flesh of Leah’s right foot sole slammed deafeningly on the hardwood landscape, missing the tiny for mere milimiters. And the Belgian giant laughed, and laughed, and laughed…
“Mon Dieu, vous êtes tous... si petits!” she panted, rubbing herself harder and harder “Et je... je suis une déesse. Ta déesse... ta…taaaaaaa”
Later the Monégasques, drenched in sweat, pussy juices and toejam, told her everything. They had no hard feelings, since they all knew what they were signing up for, but Leah noticed they were terrified, and transfixed in one thing in particular. Her laugh was deafening, but her moans were the loudest thing they had ever heard (well, for all of them except the girl who almost ended up crushed beneath her sole). While they covered their ears and braced each other in horror, Leah was having one of the best orgasms in her life. Then Leah wondered if it really was such a thing as a benevolent goddess… and also asked herself why everything smelled like goddamn cheese?
Because she wasn’t in Monaco. That was part of the past, when she got to feel big for once and Jean was alive. The reality in which she was waking up now was quite the contrary: she was very, very small, and Jean was dead, crushed beneath the massive weight of the wall of flesh coming into her blurry view. The big toe of that American bitch. It was further from her than before, she rolled everywhere like a ragdoll when she started walking. Leah was lying beneath her second toe, looming above her like the arch of a grotesque and sweaty cathedral, like the rest of the toes forming next to it, twitching randomly. Leah’s parched mouth tasted of leather and salt, and the realization made her cough painfully. The air was damp and hot, and she was sweating profusely. She had to get out of there before she died of dehydration. Why didn’t she fly off the giant Birk and plummeted to her death in some random field…?
Leah found out when she tried to move. She just couldn’t. She has glued to the leathery darkened sole… by what she assumed was dry sweat. First she tried to struggle, but her rationality managed to stop her fight or flight instincts. Maybe that was for the better, and she could wait in that safe space, away from other giant’s huge feet, until that fucking bitch slipped off her shoes and… she’d yell at her, and cry, or something. Because Jean was dead. Jean was dead, Jean was…
CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! The ground trembled under what Leah assumed were insanely gigantic high heels walking on a soft surface. Her view was blocked by the huge toes of that Cecilia Rhodes, so she couldn’t know where the hell was she, or why everything seemed to vibrate all the time, accompanied with a loud and sickening hum.
“ANYTHING TO DRINK, MISS?” Boomed the deep, bassy voice of a female American up above.
“YEAH, CAN I HAVE, UMMMM… JUST SOME WATER?” Answered the deafening, silky voice of Cecilia Rhodes.
“SURE THING, MISS”.
A plane. A fucking plane. They were on a fucking plane, that bitch didn’t even see her under her grimy toes before boarding a fucking plane to god knows where. Jean was dead and she was on a motherfucking giant American plane and she’d miss the last day of school…
“OH SHOOT!” the American hostess thundered. And then it rained, hard. Well, it really was the hostess dropping some water accidentally on Cecilia’s foot. “I’M SO SORRY, MISS”.
“IT’S OKAY, IT’S OKAY!” yelped Cecilia “DON’T WORRY! IT 'S JUST WATER. IT FEELS KINDA NICE, ACTUALLY”.
Their booming laughter reverberated in Leah’s hot, damp world, while some light streamed inside its darkness as Cecilia wiggled her toes. The water hitting Leah’s face made her realise how fucking thirsty she was. She waited for more drops to slide down Cecilia’s toes to the sole of the Birkenstock. After some struggle she managed to unglue half her body in order to move a bit and lap onto a tiny puddle that formed on the leather. The taste made her gag and feel undignified, like a desperate insect. That water had accumulated all the sweat and grime it encountered on its way down there. Nevertheless she gulped more foul liquid avidly. Maybe she could battle dehydration after all. That way, and also getting naked from her waist up to fight the heat… and so she could get glued back to the sole easier. She sighed as her bare breasts, belly and cheek made contact with the damp leather, wishing that the flight wasn’t too long…
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN” blared the Captain’s voice all over the plane “WE’D LIKE TO APOLOGIZE FOR THE DELAY. THE ISSUES HAVE BEEN ALREADY SOLVED, AND WE’LL BE ARRIVING AT WASHINGTON D.C. IN 7 HOURS”.
“COME ON”, muttered Cecilia pretty loudly for Leah’s standards “I’LL MISS THE FUCKING CONNECTING FLIGHT TO DALLAS…”.
The information first froze Leah’s blood inside her. Then she laughed. A hearty, loud laugh that no one was small enough to hear, or to care. Leah knew about that, about how she thought she cared about the tiny Monegásques, but not really, once she got naked and horny and all powerful. The world belonged to the giants, no one cared about the people underfoot, and Jean was dead. So Leah laughed, a laugh full of tears and sweat that she wasn’t sure it was hers.