Baker's Dozen (Chapter 2) (Patreon)

TUESDAY

After a fitful sleep, I’d actually convinced myself the absurd visage of my humongous ex-girlfriend towering above me in a shoebox prison while threatening to permanently entrap me beneath her greasy feet was just a nightmare, but sure enough, reality came crashing down early the next morning when the roof ripped open again.

“Good morning, Oscar,” she cheered. “Rise and shine! We’ve got a BIG day ahead of us.”

I saw Amber’s sleepy yet satisfied face briefly before her hand descended. Fingers, soft but firm and thick as tree trunks, plucked me out of the box. This was a relief, considering that gnarly sock had spent hours stagnating in a closed space with me, but I soon wished to be placed back in there, once I saw the approaching black maw of the giantess’s high-top shoe. Gulping down fresh air before it was too late, I descended into the opening, and immediately discovered that being stuck all night in a box with a ratty used sock was like a rose garden compared to the richly musky aroma waiting in the moist darkness of my ex’s well-loved shoe.

While we were still together, I’d always known to keep Amber’s used shoes at a safe distance. Of course while I enjoyed a little raunchiness to her feet themselves, and often savored the scent and flavor, those disgusting high-tops were too much even for me. The salty stench could be detected from across a room, which meant that when my entire body was placed inside it, I immediately felt like my lungs were under assault, brimming with briny vinegar-esque fog.

Falling over coughing, I realized too that the texture of the insole was just as unpleasant as the air. While the ovular fabric slip was originally dark-grey, there was a clear distinction where the fibers turned midnight-black, permanently oily and stamped down from endless pounding under Amber’s feet. The ground was dented inward here, a crater in the shape of my ex-girlfriend’s mammoth ped, and as I crawled deeper into the cave, transfixed with horror at the damage her damp sole flesh had done, I could even spot the rounded indentations where her toes bobbed and soaked the insole with five adjoining impressions like cannonballs. The ground was sticky throughout, but especially where Amber’s foot rested, gummy as black tar and dotted with the residue of sweated cotton and bread crumbs. My jaw dropped in utter repulsion, though this was a mistake, since it made it even more difficult to filter my breathing from the foul odor.

Amber hardly gave me time to adjust before what little light outlined the darkened shape of her foot across the insole was squelched away. Her socked ped was cramming its way through the opening, toes wiggling through the fuzz again. Holding up my hands and bracing for impact, I knew that nothing I did could prepare or protect me from what was coming.

My ex-girlfriend’s titanic foot, clad tight in another old black sock, bulldozed me forward like I was a leaf. At a third of an inch tall, my whole body was picked up and pinned on the rushing bulwark of Amber’s dense big toe, the dewy fibers snagging my fragile form and pulling me along. I grunted, coming to rest in a pinched gulch between the rubbery front curve of my giant girlfriend’s shoe, and bullying shapes of her digits, which squirmed as though to feel my insect-sized shape through her sock. Above, I heard the booming of her giggles, cementing how little remorse she felt for all this, followed by the sound of shoelaces the size of towing cables being lashed together, tightening the shoe and squeezing me even tighter in place.

The following hours of torment passed in a strange sense-numbing haze. As a silver lining to these terrible circumstances, Amber seemed to have figured how to keep me pinned in place without either crushing me against her toes or letting me slide to more dangerous portions of her shoe, though it was hard to be grateful, when the alternative meant being trapped in a day-long bear-hug with squishy toes and the hull of her shoe where the only source of oxygen was rancid, mealy sweat-mist that only became more humid and rotten as the workday wore on.

Amber was on her feet the entire time, just as she always complained, and in the distance I could hear the ghostly noises of orders being placed, but my world truly was relegated to the smelly, muggy void of my ex-girlfriend’s high-top. Not once did she even untie her shoe or begin to lift her foot out to give me a break. No light could enter, but crumbs occasionally tumbled down along the slope of her sock, briefly adding nicer scents of cinnamon or flour to this salty swamp before the smell of Amber’s feet overpowered them again.

At some point I must have worked myself into a dissociative state, essentially blacking out and letting the stench flow through me, until I was startled by the relinquishing of the pressure. I’d been held in a damp vice against my ex’s toes for so many hours, my body had lost all sensation, but once I splashed free into the insole basin, the soreness came flooding in, as did the ultra-spicy smell of salty flesh and sweat-tainted bread.

I’d heard Amber say many times before that it felt like she’d walked straight through a puddle after a day of work, and generally just took that to be hyperbole describing how moist her feet had become. As it turned out, this was no exaggeration, and I found myself waist-deep in literal pools of sweat that filled in the foot-blackened craters in the foamy pad. The stuff clung to me and turned my skin pruny like a long bath, but the stench itself was so wretched, I almost collapsed in a faint. Before I could, though, Amber’s gigantic fingers fished me back out and plopped me on the carpet between her socks.

“Oh look, you made it,” my giantess ex sarcastically chuckled while seated up in her chair again. “See I told you, you can’t die now. Really, you should be thanking me, because if the enchantment didn’t come with that little bonus, you’d be a smear under my sock by now, and nobody would remember you. Not even me. Now, you’re welcome for going so easy on you today, keeping you stuffed up near the front so you couldn’t slide around and get stepped on too much. I figured it was the least I could do to ease you into your new job, just for your first day, but tomorrow I’m gonna want to feel you someplace else, because it doesn’t do me much good if I’m holding you where you can’t massage me. I want to feel those little hands working hard tomorrow, understand? And to make up for the time, since today was even worse than yesterday, you’ve got a little after-work chore to do. Don’t worry, it’s exactly what you always wished I’d let you do every day, so it should be no trouble for you.”

With that, Amber raised her socked foot above me again and ripped the sodden black garment straight off. She did it so fast that a spray of sweat rained down on me, knocking my helpless fractional-inch body over like an ant, and just as I recovered, the giantess slammed her naked foot down, heel-first, so it hovered over me in a threatening arch. For a second I thought she was going to descend the rest of the way with that meaty pink sole, glistening and coated with juicy toejam spots and baking sugar, but instead she scraped it backward, so I was brought face-to-face with the same toes which had squeezed me nearly unconscious for hours, only no longer with that sloppy sock veiled between us. I could see everything, from the crumbs and cotton speckled in the bare crevices to the perspiration lubing her ringed toeprints.

“These toes had to work hard to keep you fixed in place all day, you know,” Amber whispered, giving her digits a scrunch and knocking me down again. “It’s only right you return the favor and help them relax a little. Kiss every part on the bottom of every toe, Oscar, and then maybe I’ll only make you sleep with one sock tonight instead of filling the box with a whole week of the stinkiest laundry I can find.”

That was more than enough encouragement for me. I humbly bowed at the altar of my ex-girlfriend’s toes, which stopped moving just enough to let me work. Five beefy orbs of her toe-tips, thick with grease and sock fuzz, awaited my affections. It was true that I would’ve once adored the thought of getting to pamper Amber’s sweaty feet in this way after each workday, but since the squat toes I could once fit in my mouth to suck were now big enough individually to bat me across the room like one of the loose crumbs, my fetish was trumped by intimidated awe, not to mention nearly-allergic reaction to the poisonous odor of her overworked excretions.

Sighing, I pressed my lips to the gridded pad of her big toe, warm and grungy and still oozing sweat from her pores, and fought back my gag reflex for a kiss. I was only getting started, after all, and it was going to take a lot of smooches just to cover her smallest digit. Never would I have ever dreamed of sharing a kiss with Amber again, and especially not in this tortuous manner, making out with her dirty toes, but here I was, and the first week of the rest of my new life wasn’t even half over.