All Work, No Play (Chapter 1) (Patreon)

At first, Patrick had glumly resigned himself to the belief that he’d not only tripped, but absolutely wiped out, over the first metaphorical hurdle of his freshly real-adult life. Here he was, with everything going for him, including a great group of friends, admirable grades, and a hard-won entry-level position at the prestigious Cambralart Life company that would eventually open any number of professional doors for him. Which of course meant he had to go and risk it all with that idiotic stunt he and the boys had pulled that one misguided Saturday night, not meaning to hurt anyone of course, but nonetheless watching the chaos of their actions spiral out of control into thousands of dollars in property damage and an accidental yet unfortunately severe risk to their fellow citizens.

So now here he was, still technically seated at his cubicle, but legally shrunken to an inch tall in recompense for his stupidity and participation in that night’s mess, even if the more damaging fallout of those events weren’t committed by his own hand. It didn’t matter in the eyes of the law, and for that role, Patrick had to serve his debt to society. He supposed he should count himself grateful that Cambralart hadn’t sacked him on the spot, but instead accommodated the necessity of his shrinkage, allowing him to continue working, despite the fact that he was roughly the height of a human thumbpad now. To his dismay, though, even with the company’s outwardly progressive stance on helping convicted subjects of the so-called Shrink Act continue living their lives as ordinarily as possible while learning the lesson of their past wrongdoing, it was also clear to Patrick that they didn’t wish him to forget what he’d done for even a second. In fact, they wanted the fact of his current lowliness drilled into his consciousness. Because his miniature to-scale desk setup wasn’t housed upon the tabletop of his assigned corner cubicle, where it could’ve just as easily gone, but instead stationed directly on the floor, merged right into the dividing barrier with his normal-statured across-the-way cubicle neighbor.

Learning about this arrangement was roughly the point when Patrick had believed he’d fouled up his whole future and had only misfortune to look forward to – right up until he sat down there in the shadows of the high-lofted cubicle desks for the first full day of work at this size, and actually drank in the view that would officially serve as his professional backdrop until he was regrown. Libby Hammond, the girl who sat across from Patrick’s cubicle, was a genuine sweetheart, deeply soft-spoken and shyly reserved. His interactions with her so far at Cambralart had been very friendly but professional and distanced, though the auburn-toned redhead’s natural adorableness had inevitably caught his eye. Yet it wasn’t until he was shrunken on the job that Patrick finally took notice of Libby’s feet. Really, he would’ve had to be blind and deaf to avoid that awareness, because his overlapped position with the cubicle divider meant that he was practically working more in her space than his own, and his newly inch-tall status ensured that the now-gargantuan young woman’s colossal size-11 feet dominated his view for nine hours a day.

But of course, in hindsight, it seemed even unlikelier to Patrick that he’d avoided even thinking about those feet until they were resting right in front of him at such grandiose scale, and garbed in a pair of obviously well-loved (and perhaps overly-loved, to the point of tattered abuse) navy-blue slip-on flats. Because from the first instant puberty started blossoming in him years ago, he’d known he was a dyed-in-the-wool foot fetishist, compelled and aroused by their beautiful uncovered forms from firm heels to wrinkly soles to dewdrop-curved toepads. Patrick had taught himself to be discreet about his admiration over time, too embarrassed for most of his life that his secret would be discovered or that he’d offend someone for lusting after her peds. Still, he was observant, usually able to discern a pretty-footed woman’s best assets shortly after meeting. Yet he’d been so caught up in trying to make a good impression at Cambralart, and then so initially depressed by his shrinking sentence, that he sincerely hadn’t even thought to check out Libby’s own feet – let alone become entranced by them – until he literally had no choice.

And what a revelation it was. Libby, as quiet and polite as she was, seemed to have obliviously fit right into the company’s unspoken policy that it was correct and perfectly routine for an inch-tall person to work on the ground, in the under-desk arena where her comparatively humongous flat-dressed feet loomed so near. Because even though she knew, passively, that he was down here, it obviously wasn’t so much of a concern that she ever purposefully attempted to keep her feet withdrawn from the cubicle wall, or even stop them from idly moving throughout the workday. For many tantalizing hours, a wide-eyed jaw-hung Patrick was all but hypnotized by the sight of Libby’s massive blue shoes sidling alongside one another, tapping the toe section to its twin’s heel, and alternately swinging both feet like medieval battering rams. They were essentially never at rest, or at least not for long, always shifting positions or contemplatively tapping or grinding against each other in subconscious frustration. Afraid of endangering his job, especially when he was probably lucky to still have it post-conviction, it took everything in Patrick’s power to keep focused on his shrunken-down computer and complete all his daily tasks, rather than gawping continuously at the redheaded giantess’s feet in those shoes.

Though naturally, there came a point when it was impossible to keep up that work ethic, right around the time that Libby casually unsheathed both her behemoth peds from those flats for the first time since Patrick served a shrunken shift down in their orbit. It happened near the day’s end, around four o’clock, and took place with so little fanfare that he almost didn’t realize it was happening. Libby herself, perhaps, didn’t even fully realize what she was doing, since she was on speakerphone with one of their superiors at the time, and audibly tapping away on her laptop far above. Still, as little as this gesture probably meant to the giantess herself while nonchalantly prying both flats off her feet one at a time and letting the malleable leathery-husked vessels clop onto the carpet, Patrick now couldn’t bear to take his gaze off them. God, they were gorgeous. Maybe it was because this was by far the closest view he’d had of anyone’s feet since his shrinkage, and certainly a naked pair, but whatever the circumstances, Patrick was instantaneously enamored of his coworker’s enormous stuffy fair-fleshed bare feet.