[original author: gemini, adrift]

Valerie wanted to live. She fought for her life. She was drowning in sweat, blinded by it. So she swallowed furiously, and stole every breath she could when the hot, fragrant blanket of fleshy muscle would allow her. She braced every fiber of her being as best she could with every bone-rattling step. It felt like the impacts were growing more and more powerful, and each step knocked the wind out of her, and the sense. Oh, how Val fought to live! But it didn't matter what she wanted. This Man's foot decided her fate.

Val prayed. Not to God, but to this Man, her god. If she survived this ordeal, she promised, she would worship Him properly, without any hesitation. These were all desperate thoughts, of course, pure reactions to the situation that she was in. She barely had the brain space to do anything else but plead and whimper inwardly. She was losing the ability to think. She was losing the ability to fight back. She was being stomped into submission; he was just walking.

When her bones started to snap, and her body started to burst, Val realized, too late, that her fate was sealed. All at once, a firm step pressed her too hard into the barely yielding insole, and from head to toe bone crackled and popped. Another stomp, and Val was aware of how her flesh tore, and her guts spilled. With one more step, Val felt her face cave in, and her brain went squish.

<> <> <>

As Darren was thinking of what to do with his tiny toy next, he was surprised by a familiar feeling that he loved: a woman's body crunching beneath his sole. Really, he shouldn't have been surprised. This often happened when he wore his sneakers without socks, despite the indentation he had in his insole that was supposed to keep a tiny thing alive. He didn't miss a beat, though, striding forward and further crushing the tiny woman, feeling her squish. With one final step, Darren felt her pathetic skull pop into the sensitive flesh of his bare sole, and his rock-hard cock did make it hard to walk, then.

Darren chuckled. Oh well.

He was on his way to hang out with his buddy Robert, who was also going to be at the big weekend bash. Robert was one of Darren's best buds, and the two of them often got together to play video games, drink some beer, and be worshiped.

When Darren arrived at Robert's apartment, he was on the phone and told Darren he'd be just a minute. Darren kicked off his sneakers and went into the living room, the tiny woman he murdered underfoot already forgotten. She had long lost her crunch, and her flattened form was simply left plastered against the insole of Darren's worn sneaker. There wasn't anything of her stuck to Darren's foot, either, as his sweat naturally sluiced his skin of her remains. All that she was then was a cartoonish flattened lump of herself in his sneaker, if anyone cared to look, but no one did.

Darren plopped down on the couch and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. Within moments, he felt tiny hands and tongues and faces pressing into his heels. Darren sighed happily - all was as it should be. Robert always had little slaves around. Including Lisa, Robert's ex. Darren always hated Lisa, but Robert never listened to him to dump her. Thankfully, Lisa caught the shrinking virus, and Robert immediately got over the bitch, and added her to his collection of slaves.

Darren leaned forward and peered down at the tiny women who were kneeling before his feet. There were three of them, all barely taller than an inch in height. It would have been hard to tell who was who, but thankfully the little women were all different skintones. There was a tiny woman as pale as the feet she served with red hair, another slave with skin slightly more tan with dark hair, and finally a tiny black woman with frizzy hair who must have been Lisa. Darren just chuckled and leaned back into the comfy sofa, turning his feet on their sides so that the women could lick his sweaty soles.

Ugh, Lisa, Darren thought with a laugh. One day soon, he hoped, he'd be the one to step on her.