She could not see his face anymore, nor the phone, and the faint shine of the bus lighting became even more distant as she found herself covering in the shadow of his expansive sole, feeling even smaller than she actually was - feeling like... an insect, she realized, something beneath his notice literally and figuratively. It was a sensory overload; the waves of his smell washing over her, the warmth radiating from the flexing foot, the lack of light. It was daunting. It was like a force she'd never known before was pressing her into the floor with a great invisible fist. She had to leave, she realized, she had to run, there was a danger associated with being here, a danger that was possibly much worse than being carelessly crushed - it was something carnal, something she'd never thought of, something right out of Lovecraft's cosmic horror fantasies but unspeakably more alluring. Here was a man that almost crushed her, here was his sock-clad sole, a sole that could mash and grind her into a wet spot on the floor, and... fuck it... it was so powerful.

What if he knew? What if he didn't care? What if THIS was truly how he saw her?

She was *tiny*, so it was *okay* to do this.

There it is. She *wanted* to believe she knew. She *wanted* to believe there was a man out there who trampled on tiny people, and if she was in the comfort of her home she could post all sorts of outrage about him on the internet, but right here, right now... she wanted it... because it was *sexy* that he decided to subject a shrunken person to his feet like this. Turning her life upside down without doing anything to her. Without as much as appearing he even knew about her. She'd heard about it all; she knew that there were bullies out there, as there were nice people, but this... this was something else.

So she couldn't move; she stayed there, frozen in a strange reverie, as she hungrily watched the socked sole flex above her, tiny pieces of lint raining all around, virile odor washing over, and there was a strange guilty pleasure collecting within her. The thought that she should leave never left her mind, but she never followed through on it, even when the position of the foot shifted and the sole lowered towards her, cutting off yet more light coming from the world beyond. She wondered how many women in America have ever experienced anything like this; being faced with a foot of a massive man, someone uncaring enough to never double check if that little box had anyone inside it, or if there was a corpse stuck to their shoe. Adrenalin coursed through her veins as she imagined the foot descending further, pressing her into the floor in a firm, suffocating embrace... She fantasized, feeling all hot and jumpy, and the foot was getting closer, almost like it was getting progressively bigger, like its sheer presence was enough to force her to shrink even more, and in a way, mentally, it was true, because it made her feel smaller than she'd ever felt before. A true bug's eye view; turns out, you can't envision it without actually being a bug to someone else...

She realized that his sole, specifically, the ball of his foot were now close enough, that she only needed to stand up and take a couple of steps forward to touch it. Without even thinking, she did just that - rose to her feet and took those steps with her arm extended in front of her. The fabric of his sock was like a thick carpet of rope; she could tell that if she wanted, she could force her arm through the gaps in the threads, and touch the hot flesh beneath, and once again she'd thought of just how long it has been since she'd last had any kind of physical contact with someone who wasn't shrunken too. She recoiled then, the panic and the fear taking over once again: run, Brooke, run, before you lose something you can't afford to lose. And at the same time, the sole leaned towards her just a little extra bit, and the ball of hit his her on the head and chest, sending her to the floor in a chaotic, flailing heap. Breathing heavily, raspily, she watched at the sky of damp black fabric right above her, realizing that she'd need to crawl from under it if she wanted to leave...

In a swift, sudden motion, the foot left, exposing her to the faint light of the bus once again. She watched his foot as he used his toes to hook his empty shoe and push it a bit forward; the rubber sole, as thick as she was tall, landed next to her with a terrifying thud. Then, he half-pushed his foot into the shoe... and stopped there.

She looked up. His phone was still in the direct line of vision connecting her eyes with his. He was grinning. She saw him mouth: "come on", or was it "come in"? Licking her dry lips, shaking, she stood up and slowly walked up to the side of his shoe, before bracing and jumping; she managed to get her hands on the rim of it, and she pulled herself up, balancing precariously on the very edge between the outside and the inside. Her self-preservation instinct screamed in terror, commanding her to get away; the rational part of her knew that this was insane, it was crazy, idiotic. But the other part of her, the one that was mesmerized, brought low by the mere sight of his imposing, masculine foot, resting imperiously right above her; the part that simply knew that she had to be beneath his feet for a bit longer - that part was afraid that he was about to leave the bus, and what would she do if he left?

Brooke dove in, sliding towards his insole, falling down, light suddenly becoming scarce, the air now totally replaced by the raw manly odor of her newfound idol, and, as she landed, she saw and felt his foot move in, as it entered the shoe, settled on the insole and filled the space all around, smashing the tiny girl into a narrow space between the inner wall of his sneaker and the arch of his foot. She inhaled, feeling his musk permeate her lungs, she closed her eyes and prayed, and then she felt him rise - and her body felt the weight of a god.

***

It never failed.

Colin smiled to himself as he stepped into the aisle, enjoying the feel of a tiny body beneath his foot. He walked slowly, relishing the feel of the girl's body conforming, flexing, compressing to accommodate his foot. On his phone, there was a short video of her little blonde head staring up in reverence with his foot resting next to her form; it was that gaze that he longed for, that "you've-made-your-point-now-step-on-me-daddy" look that you could only get if you let them come to the thought themselves. Sometimes it felt like they were all closet size fetishists; being treated like dirt, being subjected to his pure presence brought out that delicious desire which he was so happy to use.

Usually, the use was... short-lived. Some lasted longer. But he didn't try to be too careful or anything. He had places to be, he needed to get there, walk there, and the girl would have to make do. She probably regretted her decision already, he mused. But that was not his concern.

Colin stepped out of the bus and went along his day, with Brooke becoming a tiny bit more... comfortable... with every new step.