All Work, No Play (Chapter 4) (Patreon)

One brush was all he required to answer the sensory gaps Patrick had only been able to fantasize about before, having not actually made skin-to-skin contact with his coworker until now. Her skin was pleasingly soft, yielding and quaggy, yet with undeniable firmness and brawny presence to her underfoot musculature, and the faintest hint of shoe-induced moisture already frosted across that naked surface area. With his crush on Libby’s feet so activated already, first from watching them at play, then getting another whiff of their heat and bouquet, that surprise head-on nudge from her sole was all it took to make him inadvertently flinch across the sexual finish line under his clothes.

Since the benevolent hardworking redhead hadn’t merely forgotten where Patrick’s miniature desk was placed, but actually made the obvious mistake of gingerly ramming right into him with the bottom of her not-quite-clean size-11 feet, he was certain she would notice what she’d done, and in an embarrassed over-apologetic frenzy, ensure it never happened again. Accordingly, he was already rehearsing his most cordial answer, while cautiously hiding the fact that he’d just cummed in his pants, and mourning the probability that he’d never get so close to her feet again. But Libby did no such thing. She didn’t even seem to consciously register that she’d touched something solid, let alone that it was a tiny living being with whom she shared a cubicle barrier. That assumption became fact in Patrick’s mind when it happened again almost right away, and this time more than a quick tap. Libby’s sole actually surrendered some of its weight down upon the comparatively-puny obstacle of her coworker’s station, which she must have just assumed in the back of her mind to be an abnormal juncture in the desk’s design, and stayed put. Her print-padded toes bobbed up and down, thumping against surfaces and shuffling miniscule office supplies, while the upper-region slab of her lively sponge-textured sole itself was now mushed down with stable yet endurable pressure right upon Patrick himself.

This was well-past what the shrinker could’ve ever hoped for, and he was torn between maniacally attempting to burn this sensory memory into his brain for fond recall later, but also making sure he lived in the moment to savor the indulgent coziness of Libby’s foot pressed straight against his body as best as he could. Definitely not daring to move now, out of fear that the giantess would finally notice him, Patrick wondered if he somehow wouldn’t incur some blame for failing to alert her to this happy accident. None of this was his fault, after all. And yet there was no denying that he would’ve gratefully remained in exactly this posture for hours, possibly even days, on end. He was complicit. The semantics of responsibility quickly faded from Patrick’s thoughts, however, as Libby’s soles gradually lurched back into lackadaisical motion. But not to lift off away from the undersized ottoman she’d made out of his desk and body.

Rather, she started itchily massaging the bottoms of her feet over this irregular geometry she’d subconsciously settled upon, rubbing and grinding with aching slowness while matching the smooth contours of her arches to whatever solid object they touched. As a result, Patrick soon found himself made into a stationary kneading tool for the plump-ridged fluting of the redhead’s undersole padding. Her foot flesh texture repeatedly grew denser and then turned marshmallowy-lush again with each swaying pass that comfortably buried most of the one-inch’s angled body along that pithy shoe-heated breadth. Patrick braced his chair against the desk to keep from being shoved over and thus losing contact with the silky sweep of Libby’s nude ped. That aroma – a combination of musty slip-on lining, night sweat, mild sole raunch, and a dash of strawberry-floral perfume – seeped more wholly into him than ever before, flooding his lungs and making him feel borderline-buzzed off her essence. Some of the congealed perspiration from her skin was wiped down over his diminutive professional garb, as well as stickily smeared over his face each time her sole gently consumed his features again, but Patrick couldn’t have cared less. Within five minutes of this treatment, particularly when his whole body including a certain sensitive region was benefiting from the highly-tactile back-and-forth glide of the giantess’s tender underfoot bulk, he shivered to his second climax of the day.

Yet not even that electrically-stimulating hands-free finish marked the end of Patrick’s good luck. Soon, Libby wasn’t just unknowingly caressing her shrunken coworker from the northern precipice of her sole down to her heel, but all the way up to her toes, which had been grasping at the void all along and keeping those puttied arch wrinkles in a constant state of flux. Now, though, her digits jointed in the claiming of the one-incher’s workstation and its subject as a massage toy. Flexing and scrunching those toes, Libby first tickled them down the line over Patrick’s supine frame. But then she kept them flared as far apart as she could, and in a flash, had wedged the majority of the little guy’s body straight into the dewy V-divot space between her two largest digits, where the lint-dotted flesh was especially pliable and velvety-supple. Patrick’s pulse hastened again, not only fully aware of how easily the giantess could squeeze him to the point of injury here, but also absolutely certain she would have to notice him now. Right? Yet again, though, he’d apparently underestimated just how intently the girl was multitasking the demands atop her desk, and even when she had her horny stock-still coworker clasped into the musky pocket betwixt beefy toe shafts for active rubdown use, reality didn’t catch up to her.

Which left Patrick free to surrender in the self-gratifying thrall of his titanic cubicle neighbor’s pretty toes. In oddly provocative motion, even though Libby of course still had no conscious clue of what she was doing down here, her foot kept using the shrunken desk for sole manipulation, while her toes themselves pumped up and down along the one-incher’s conveniently-placed body. With that delicate milky-pale curvature of the giantess’s toe flanks scrubbing repeatedly over his face and midsection, Patrick would’ve been powerless to do anything but hold breathlessly in place while worked aggressively toward his third unintended ejaculation today, courtesy of an entirely-unaware Libby’s foot.

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THE END (for now)