Learning Humility

(F/f, feet, insertion)

Jessica Whitmore wouldn't be in this situation if she were a little more attentive, a little smarter, a little more driven. She made the performance of loving her job on Wall street but really she couldn't care less about it; she loved her job because other people loved their jobs and she wanted to fit in. Her father had pulled the strings and she emerged from college with all the right credentials to be slot right into his company, enjoying the fruits of her labour without the need to perform any labour. If Jessica possessed any of the financial acumen she theoretically should, and bothered to show up to work half as much as she was supposed to, she would have realised long before she was 'repossessed' that the entire company was in dire financial straits. Jessica, born into such immense wealth and privilege that she never thought twice about spending on any want that crossed her mind, found her upscale Manhattan apartment seized, her possessions sold, and -- when even that came short of paying her debts -- found herself arrested. From there, her recollection became fuzzy, save for a few key traumas; cold metal, lab coats, prolonged periods of sensory deprivation. Too naive to begin to guess what was going on, she eventually resigned herself to a constant, unending sob. Where was she now? In the dark, muffled voices played far away, unintelligible and foreboding. She didn't deserve this, she wasn't meant to suffer like this.

---

To an outsider, Sarah Blackburn and Jessica Whitmore could not be more similar: both from affluent WASPy backgrounds, with at most three degrees of separation between themselves and a Bohemian Grove attendee; both were pretty twenty-somethings (Sarah had freckles, a thin waist, and big eyes; Jessica had a beauty spot, blonde hair, and a certain glamour about her) and both worked in finance. In fact, they were undergrads together, which is exactly where their mutual hatred began. The narcissism of small differences pitted the two daddy's girls against each other, simmering with envy as they competed for grades, connections, and the adoration for their peers. Sarah came out satisfied that she'd 'won' -- possessing that modicum of work ethic which Jessica totally lacked -- while Jessica persisted with the smug assurance sleeping with Sarah's Senior year boyfriend provided her. In truth they were still both embittered over their feud and loathed those moments their social bubbles rubbed up against each other, plotting petty slights against one another using the wide gossip nets their social status provided them. After all these years, Sarah was confident she had just played the decisive move.

In truth she wasn't the genius she was in her mind. This hadn't been planned from the beginning, just a serious of fortuitous (for Sarah) events all aligning; keeping those STEM nerds around had paid dividends. Posting her customary TGIF posts to social media, the young lady left at lunch to start her 2.5 day weekend and beamed down the sparkling NY streets. She popped into one of the monolithic buildings and popped out just as quickly, a new package in tow. Jessica was still in the dark, still sobbing, only now she was being thrown and jostled around, pushed against the foamy coating of her tomb. Sarah tapped her pumps impatiently in the elevator up. Jessica felt a pit growing in her stomach. Sarah unlocked, kicked off, set down, and opened. Jessica emerged from the box screaming.

The light flooded her eyes, pupils shrinking to microscopic dots. The peachy blur that took up her visual field increased in definition, resolving into a freckled face fitted with insanely expensive round wire frame glasses and wearing a broad smile; a freckled face she knew far too well. "What the fuck?!" was all she could say, like a little leaf in the wind.

"Hey hun, long time," she beamed. Jessica looked microscopic, two inches tall, at most. And she was absolutely terrified; fuck, this was everything she wanted it to be.

Jessica shot her head around, soaking in the apartment which was horrifying on two fronts: absolutely gigantic, beyond her wildest comprehension of what an interior space could be, and more expensive than hers. "No no no no... this can't..."

"Can't what? Speak up," absolutely dripping smugness.

"I'm not... no... no..."

"'Fraid so, Jessy~" Used with the knowledge that she despised that name.

Jessica was dreadfully aware of her position. She didn't know how exactly, but she could very much guess why and for what. Shrinking technology had made leaps and bounds these past few years, in secret, of course; it was fortunate that the technology had come about just as deepfake AI had been perfected to such a degree that the few videos of shrunken people circulated by the fossils who still used Twitter were immediately dismissed as fake, leaving the technology in the hands of the exclusive upper-crust of society. Jessica, daughter of privilege as she was, had owned shrunken people herself: ex-cons who did tasks she deigned not do herself, degrading tasks even, humiliating... She bore them no mind, she was gorgeous, she was rich, on some level (not admitted to even herself) she KNEW she was better than the average person. Where did that leave diminutive playthings (who deserved it, of course) in the hierarchy?

The sobbing, briefly paused by shock and awe, returned. "W-what are you gonna do to me?"

Sarah cocked her head to the side in an incredibly irritating way, "Whatever I want honey."

That set Jessica off. She flew into a murderous rage, jumping from her foam indent and shouting in her adorable little voice with all her five and bit centimetres of height. "You bitch! I hate you! You evil cunt!"

The larger lady's smile remained unbroken, she ignored her pet to flip open her phone, and with the single tap of a thumb muted the squeaking. Jessica found, instantly, like she couldn't speak. It seemed she only needed to will it, to spit out the words she had seconds ago, but couldn't. Sarah looked so fucking self-satisfied about it too. "Neural implant," she said grinning, "There're still kinks to be worked out dealing with this high-level stuff so it's not cleared for use in humans." She let the implication settle into the slightly duller girl's head. Yes, the STEM nerds were her best investment. Deftly she unmuted, wanting to hear the little girl's words.

Jessica dropped to her knees, her tone doing a 180. "Sarah, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she said, bawling. "I'll do anything, anything, I swear!"

Her owner playfully rolled her eyes. "No wonder daddy's business went under. You're soooo bad at negotiating. What could you give me? I have all the cards."

The tiny blonde winced, trying desperately to come up with something. "My money! All of it! Daddy's too!"

A smirk. "What money? 'Daddy' needed to pawn you off just to keep afloat. My daddy basically owns yours now, just like how I. Own. You."

Jessica no longer sobbed, she was bawling. She had nothing. "I-I'm sorry okay! Please! I know we haven't a-always gotten along..."

Smirk number two, slightly bigger this time. "Okay, Jessy, baby, one thing. Then we're cool."

"Anything!"

Those freckle-flecked cheeks were receiving a workout today. "I want you to admit that you are nothing. That I am better than you in every way. I am prettier than you, smarter than you, richer than you. I want you to say that I, Sarah Diane Blackburn, am your superior." And to top it all off she crossed her legs, tilted up her nose, and waited with a disgusting little smirk of self-satisfaction.

Never. Not in a billion years. Fucking Sarah, the bitch, the vile whore, Ms. Blackburn the smug petty self-centred gossiping slut. Jessica tilted her head down. "Y-you're better than m-me."

"Did I hear something?"

Swallowing a metric ton of pride. "You are better than me."

"C'mon hunny, like you mean it."

"You are better than me!"

On the phone screen: lie detected. "Tsk tsk tsk. Lying gets you nowhere."

Brief seconds of shock washed over her before she collapsed and let hopelessness take hold. No use. She felt absolutely crushed; why her? Bad things happened to other people. Being Sarah fucking Blackburn's personal plaything was her idea of pure hell. Snapped from her depression by gorgeously manicured fingers closing around her nude midsection, Jessica struggled hopelessly against the giant. "What are you doing?" she squeaked, worried.

"Whatever I want," Sarah smiled.

The tiny girl was tossed to the ground, microparticles of dust dirtying her imperceptibly. Reduced to a filthy floor-creature, she stared upwards towards her owner, shoulders brace on her sofa's backrest. Sarah had always been lithe, even if on the shorter side. She was delicate and adorable, more so than the curvier Jessica, either one gossiping about the 'stick insect bitch' and 'fat cow' respectively. From her vantage on the floor, there could be no mistake that she was still adorable, with that perfect little freckle-dotted nose and toothy smile; delicate was a different matter. Her endless beige legs disappeared up her calf-length work trousers, solid masses of muscle and bone many many times the diminutive girl's mass. Her tasteful (and expensive) blouse gave just a hint of her navel, clinging to her round breasts which -- given recent events -- were larger than Jessica's, finally putting to rest another source of mild insecurity for her. Sarah as a giant proved frustratingly spectacular to the tiny insignificant little flea gaping up at her from the filthy ground. Wordlessly, she brought her feet together, hovering them above her pet, obscuring her ever self-satisfied grin. Like her, they were slender and graceful, milky, pale-pinkish, like she deign never set foot on the ground we mere mortals (or, in Jessica's case -- lower than mere mortal) stand on. Her dexterous toes playfully flexed, her subtle instep lines folding into velvety wrinkles and back again. The bus-length appendages slowly descended on the miserable girl, the fact that she'd be crushed to death like an insect beneath the worst person she knew while grovelling on the floor seemed like a humiliation too much to bear. She whimpered, curled up, waiting to be annihilated by a pair of immaculately manicured size 5.5 feet. That never came, instead she found herself in the shadow of a three-storey sole, ominously hanging above her, knowing full well she could be extinguished with a flick of a single tendon. Sarah parted her feet for a moment, delighted to see her toy terrified in the fetal position. 'I set my fucking feet down and she's absolutely terrified! I didn't even mean to scare her.' A devilish grin crossed her lips, she very much enjoyed uttering the single syllable: "lick."

Not in a million years. Jessica, vacillating between abject terror, hopelessness, and and righteous indignation, scrambled to her feet and bolted away. No logical reason, no escape plan, simply away from having to prostrate herself like a serf by kissing the Empress' foot. The bigger of the two, of course, rolled her eyes. She couldn't be bothered to leave her queenly throne to chase, even if it were but a single step her little legs carried. She pressed one button on her phone, sending the brat to the ground in agony. Jessica's brain hurt -- not just a headache: a shrill, sharp, searing pain right in her cerebellum. She screamed, thumping the hardwood flooring until her owner relented. "What the fuck was that!!??" she screamed so loud even Sarah heard her.

"Negative reinforcement."

Jessica spat, fuck this fucking bitch, fuck her, she would never, ever, ever-

*bzz*

---

"Good girl," Sarah cooed. It took some persuasion, the arrogant bitch, but finally after enough bouts of excruciating pain delivered via the effortless tap of finger, Jessica relented and touched her tongue to her new owner's heel. She tried her best to not cry, to not give her the satisfaction of knowing she fucking hated every moment of what was to be her life for the foreseeable future. The blonde girl, born with a silver spoon in her mouth, who felt she had the world's financial institutions wrapped around her finger, now ran her tongue along the moisturised heel of her owner -- the very word 'owner' made her skin crawl. She was hardly a spiritual person, but she felt such an injustice wouldn't go unpunished by the powers that be. It couldn't, right?

"*whistles* other one now Jessy babe, righty's getting all jealous," Sarah mocked, eyes not budging from her social media feed. Finally, Jessica broke into tears, which just made her soles taste saltier.

Without a word to her toy, Samantha opened up the app that controlled her brain, looking through menus and menus of little tweaks she could make to her senses. It was amazing how much she could control the little thing; she knew, full-well, she could instantly turn her into an obedient, docile, mewling creature who thought only of Samantha and worshiping her -- turning Jessica into an automaton in her own mind. But where was the fun in that? This was meant to be a learning experience for the little brat. Just a touch, Samantha allowed some more dopamine to flow within the little thing's brain, not much, just hopefully enough to reward her good behaviour. This was shaping up to be exactly what Samantha wanted it to be.

---

Later that evening, after treating herself to a few luxurious glasses of wine, Sarah was ready to turn in. She shamelessly undressed in front of little Jess, no more embarrassed than being naked in front of a canary -- which was appropriate, as Jess was caged by her bedside.

"Sarah... p-please, I'm starving. I need to eat..."

"Sarah?" the nude woman asked. In fact, she wanted her to see her body. She was still rich, she could still afford all the dietary coaches, personal trainers, manicurists, fashion advisers, and make-up artists to be beautiful. Jess on the other hand... Sarah could only enjoy her victory.

"M-m... mistress Sarah."

Sarah held a finger to her lips in faux contemplation. "I know you owned a few shrinkies, didn't you hun? How did you feed them?"

Jess winced; she didn't, they eventually starved to death. When she did feed them... bread. "Uhm... my l-leftovers."

Sarah's phone buzzed, a notification -- a lie, as expected. The giant tuttered, "Lying to your owner? That's going to cost you."

The tiny dared not ask what, and simply let the imposing slender figure of her mistress sashay out her bedroom. She returned, a moment later, to sprinkle crumbs of bread over her pet. "Enjoy," she wished, not even turning to look at her, sliding into bed. Jess took a single bite from the scone-sized crumb before spitting it out, with the horrid realisation that that fucking bitch had tinkered around in her head, and now this bread tasted bitter and foul. She doubled over and began to sob, in the depths of self-pity. In the dark, Sarah reached for he phone, for a brief moment Jess thought she was reversing whatever she did to her. She found herself muted, the sound of sobbing never coming out.

---

Jess had finally lost count of the number of days she'd been in this living hell. About a fortnight, give or take a few days, by her estimate. Every night she dreamt of her past life -- her job, her home, being out with friends -- every morning she awoke with a blissful few seconds of serenity before her waking memory came back to her, and she realised what she was: the pet of Samantha fucking Blackburn. Her owner had great fun 'training' the diminished woman, usually subjecting her to some humiliation at the threat of 'negative reinforcement'. She rubbed and liked every square inch of her feet, rubbed cream into her skin, performed manicure/pedicures, served as a stress ball after work, served as a masseuse after the gym, rubbing her slick sweaty body, and more. Samantha got endless entertainment from experimenting with the features of the app, which Jess found disturbing and a horrific invasion of privacy. Her owner knew when she was hungry, thirsty, tired, lying, her rough emotional state (depressed, relieved, afraid) and could manipulate them at will. She remembered being rendered catatonically afraid of nothing in particular by a single tap, or even a brief taste of pure joy before notching it back down to her borderline of resigned misery. Physically and mentally her greatest enemy controlled her and made her conform to her every whim. When not in use she sat bored in her cage, feeling sorry for herself. Sometimes the gigantic bitch would tease her while at work; the thought filled her with rage, Samantha on her lunch break with friends, chatting casually while she wordlessly got out her phone and gave her a few zaps.

This morning she wasn't even granted the ability to remember her condition herself, being yanked straight out the cage and dangled before the pearly whites of her mistress as she cooed a sickly sweet, "Good morning~". She was dressed in sports gear, a pale band around her navel forming a gap between her sweatpants and crop-top. Apparently she'd be accompanying her on her run today, which involved being tossed into her running shoes and treated like a pebble. In the dark, the image of Samantha's frustratingly bubbly face waving buh-bye before she shoved her sock-clad in, bulldozing her and cutting off any light in her bus-sized Nikes, was burned into the underside of Jess's eyelids. The tiny woman was subjected to the sweltering heat and humidity found in the tiny crevice beneath her owner's giant toes, crushing her with the whole weight of the short, slim woman every stride she took. Apparently 'quantum density' left her durable, whatever the fuck that meant. Families, dog-walkers, fellow runners, all smiled and nodded as the pretty woman jogged past, unaware that she was tormenting a person beneath her so casually and without a hint of remorse. To Samantha, this was her victory lap; it was beautiful day, the sun shining, the wind gentle -- perfect for exercising, and even more perfect for tormenting her rival. This was technically the first time Jess had left the apartment, and all she was exposed to was the inside of this bitch's shoe. She was absolutely drowned in sweat, pummeled by her strides, and cooked under the sweltering heat. The only thing she could sense from the outside world were the imperceptible sounds of Samantha's jangling anklet and the occasional bark of a dog, and only in-between being crushed by the entire weight of a cruise liner landing on top of her.

Samantha saw a bench ahead so decided to take a break and catch her breath. She took a seat and guzzled down a cool stream of water, inhaling the Spring air and watching the casual occurrences in the park. Perhaps she should see how her little friend was doing. Opening her phone, she saw the primary feeling Jess was experiencing: envy, which made her happy to no end. Untying her shoes, she freed her feet and pried of her socks, letting the wind flow between her toes. The giant, her face visible high above through the opening of her sneaker, smiled down at the tiny girl wordlessly, knowing that nothing needed to be said. Jess just sat there, staring at her owner's face, glowing in the morning sun, burning with envy. She tried her best to enjoy the cool breeze that blew through the hole, but just as the wind changed and she finally began too cool down, Samantha's feet were pushed back into their shoes and Jess got to experience the torture all anew, all the way back to home. "I'm gonna need a rubdown after that," her owner said, wiping the sweat from her brow. "I'm sure you can help hun."

Jess just collapsed in her cage and resigned to her fate. Sure, she'd obey the slut, what else was there to do?

"You seemed to hold up well though, that's good, glad you didn't pop and get my socks dirty. Eww." Samantha walked over to her closet, opening it up wide, "Oh, and that was just the beginning," she smiled, presenting her vast collection of shoes, everything from gucci loafers to shoes worth a working man's wage for a month to cute-floral embossed flip-flops. "Plenty of time to try them all out!"

---

Samantha arrived home a little late this evening, having had a meeting with her friends in neurocybernetics after work. There was a software update with new features and she was excited to try them out. She remotely put the tiny girl to sleep, so by the time she was home she would have enough energy to play all night. Wasting no time, she was thrown on the coffee table, Samantha taking her seat on the sofa like a demanding and judging deity, taking out her phone and hitting a few buttons, just to warm up.

The strangest thing happened to Jess as she did so -- she moved. It was like the will was forced into her, and before she even thought, it felt as though she moved her arm of her own volition. She stared wide-eyed at Samantha, who was clearly having fun. Finding which buttons corresponded to which body parts, she managed to get a hang of controlling her fairly quickly, and in no time she could march Jess around the table like an RC toy. "Samantha, please! This is... wrong," she sobbed, the feeling of having her will so easily countermanded disturbed her.

"MISTRESS Samantha you little bitch," she said, clearly amused with her new toy. "Sit down." And with a single button press, she did so. "Good girl. Now, roll over!" Jess cringed as she acted like a dog for Samantha's entertainment. She just remembered an old memory, from sophomore year; Jess had started a rumour that Samantha had sex with a dog, which was widely gossiped about for a few weeks. The once shorter girl screamed at Jess for no end, knowing she started it. Jess considered it a victory, especially when her dad found out. If only she were there to see how red Ms. Freckles would have been when her dad asked her about it... "Can I make you bark? Guess they haven't programmed that in yet. How about you bark for me? C'mon, do it for me," she said with the perfect condescension of a pet owner.

"Why? So you can fuck me?"

Jess immediately regretted what she just said.

Samantha was silent, not betraying whatever she was feeling. Without so much as a furrowed brow she began marching Jess towards the edge of the table.

"I'm sorry! Please, please Mistress Samantha! I just blurted it out!" She was blubbering, struggling against the mental anguish of willing against her own movements. She tried desperately to stop, the long fall to the ground visible through the glass table. It was no use, she was marching to her own death, all because of her big fucking mouth. It wasn't until she was one toe from taking a leap off the side did she finally stop. Jess was chattering, taking short breaths to calm herself. She was such a fucking idiot.

The gigantic woman, still poker-faced and dire, grabbed her uncaringly by the arm, yanking her up and dangling her before her. "Maybe I will," she said, finally answering her question. She slipped a thumb into her trousers, revealing her shaved vulva. No no no no, she did not want to end up in Samantha's panties.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry okay, please!"

Through her glasses, down her button nose, Samantha stared at her unexpressive. "Maybe you shouldn't have fucked Brad," she said, holding the tiny thing for a few shocked moments before releasing her, sending her bouncing off her taut abdomen and scrambling into her pants.

What a little bitch, Samantha thought. An absolutely stupid one too. How long had she been licking her toes? And she thought she could chat back to her. Man-stealing slut. Already she was writhing around down there, against her lips, moistening them, but she could do better. Getting up her phone, she tapped a button, sending her toy into a something near an epileptic fit. The gigantic woman bit her lip, enjoying the feeling; she had reduced the whore to a sex-toy, which is probably all she was good for before shrinking anyway. Jessica had a front row seat to the woman's colossal vulva, quickly moistening, especially when compelled to flail around wildly like some living magic egg. Between the heavy, musky breaths she took between spasms, she was gutted at how stupid she had been to disrespect her owner like that, she almost felt... guilty. If only the old her could see this, a sex-toy for Samantha Blackburn, bracing against her soft, enveloping lips, totally controlled and surrounded by her...

The larger woman had developed a good rhythm and was now letting her fantasies flow, though with the annoying bitch still on her mind. Who else hated Jessy? Oh, she remembered, Lilly Chang, the little slut had started some rumour about her too. She was cute... Maybe she'd enjoy getting back at Jessica too? Wouldn't be too hard to find her, get her around, let Jess pamper for a little. Maybe they could share a drink after, then Samantha could offer to demonstrate a certain 'feature'. Grinding the little slut between them, running their hands along each other's bodies. Samantha was beginning to breathe heavily now. She grabbed a cushion and stuck it between her thighs, squeezing it, imagining it was Lily Chang. Fuck, Jess would absolutely hate that, Miss center of attention being ignored as two people she absolutely despised fucked each other, using her like toy between them. She probably hated this right now; the sight of the small bulge, writhing at her touch, just noticeable above the pillow, made her wild.

Meanwhile, reduced to a toy and thought of only in demeaning sexual fantasies by her owner, Jess's limbs were beginning to grow tired, fighting against the light, airy panties which were now completely damp. It felt like from now on her life would consist of being moved from one damp crevice to another, interspersed with humiliating games and periods of boring nothingness.

Oh FUCK! The thought of making Jess lick Lilly's feet while she rode her face, staring right at her debasing herself -- she would absolutely hate that. Bz bz bz bz bz, Samantha stabbed at the button; she hoped she came apart down there, or drowned, what a fitting way for a slut like her to die. With the picture of Lilly's face between her thighs, Samantha threw her head back and moaned, her thumb pressed hard into her phone. Jess, on the edge of consciousness, was still forced to writhe like a wind up toy for her owner, covered head to toe in her juices, making every movements a drag through viscous fluid. With loud moans vibrating through the gargantuan woman, her torture stopped, and she sat in the warm, sticky dark.

Samantha fished the tiny woman out of her panties and discarded her on the floor with barely a glance. "I need a fucking shower," she said, raising to her full height, "I'll get cleaned up then we're good for round two, kay hun? Good." Her bare feet slapped against the floor as she left. "Oh, and no running," she said, taking away her ability to move.

---

The surest sign you're adapting to a new life is when your dreams -- the uninteresting ones, the ones enacting mundane activities -- have conformed to your present. Jess would have dreams of licking her owner's feet, or her astride her long legs rubbing in cream, painting her nails, performing a billion other tasks at her behest. She had dreams about when she served as some 'living' sex toy, made to convulse and provide her brief ripples of pleasure. Some dreams seemed a little less 'auto-pilot', more... traumatic, or degrading. Times she was teased and diminished actively, instead of passively.

The tiny girl recalled one time 'serving her', doing something ridiculously decadent -- licking fruit juice as it ran down her arm from her snack. Apparently the 'secrecy' she wished to keep got boring and she wanted to gossip -- naturally, she was a gossiping bitch. Not even affording the powerless slave in her possession to hear her mockery, she deafened her with that fucking app which seemed to control her brain. Removing another person's senses seemed like the power of a God -- to give and take away so easily... To serve her, knowing that just outside reach she's mocking her and sharing all the most humiliating things -- probably with former friends of hers: shallow, two-faced bitches. Jess wondered if she'd be the same if one of them were in her place... That was just one unbearable torment. There were others; when she paraded around Jess's former possessions, which she valued to some degree, in what increasingly felt like a past life. She had such a passive aggressive way of mocking, to lead to the conclusion of an insult but never step over it, maintaining on herself the look of innocence and on yourself the pain of both the insult and guilt for judging such a perfect innocent angel. "These shoes are a little big for me -- I'm only 5.5 y'know," she said. Those giant monsters, the lowest part of her, so gigantic and foreboding to poor little Jessy, 'Only 5.5'. Samantha loved to remind her how big she used to be, back when she was living a happy life, before the tragic fall from grace that still haunted her.

One of the worst torments was when her owner invited a mutual friend over, maybe out of malice and spite... Samantha had the STEM nerds in her pocket, which Jess derided her for, hypocritically, being somewhat close friends with a girl who helped with her bio homework who was definitely in Samantha's 'sphere'. They would mutually gossip, of course, they both knew, they wanted the gossip and hate to reach each other through this poor girl. Since apparently Dorothy was involved in getting Samantha a foot in the door to such and such firm who performed shrinking for the government, who managed to put 'Jessica Renee Whitmore' aside, for her, for this. As such Dorothy was owed a go. "No way! So that's where she's been?"

"Her friends don't know?"

"We heard she was taken by the police, in debtor's prison."

"No one's gone to visit her?"

"In a prison? Ew."

It was at this -- realising all her former friends cared very little for her personally, meant she could never go back to a 'normal' life, and she was adapting more and more to her circumstances. The most sickening thing is when she somehow grew to almost revel in those, 'I am noticed'. She despised Samantha, personally, for her situation and from their history, but she held so much power she demanded respect, and notice from authority was proof she existed. A patronising 'good girl' and smug 'babe' when she was being scolded felt warm, reassuring. Frankly, Samantha was her only social relationship, her workplace, her... purpose, in life.

It was strange, most her time was spent being of no use, in her cage, idle, sometimes with music accidentally left on (what an amazing day that was). She felt like she barely existed outside of Sarah, the woman she despised so much. She existed totally as fun, entertainment, fulfilling some psychological need to dominate, a tool.

Not all her dreams of 'this life' were grounded in the mundane parts of reality. She had her share of fantastical dreams. There was one of note -- a recurring one even -- where Samantha sat lounging on a throne, covered in jewellery and draped in a toga like a Roman goddess. She had an aura of holy authority about her, like she was to be obeyed simply because she demanded it. She rose to her full, incalculable height airily from the throne, and had a gentle smile on her lips, massive anklets jangling to such a slight shift in her foot. "Mortal, do you reject the natural order of things? Reject me?"

She would answer no, but She would know Jess lied, with her supernatural ability to see into her mind. "Disappointing," is all Samantha would sigh. Lifting that slender, powerful appendage, to crush her into the waking world, covered in sweat. Each day Jess would awaken from these dreams, dealing with more and more material to fuel them.

"I'm home!" Jess heard the perennial greeting of her owner. "Fuck, I need you today, you will not believe how much daddy had been pushing me lately..." Secretly, Jess felt relieved.

---

Due to the technically secretive nature of shrinking technology, Samantha was forced to keep her pet mostly cloistered in her apartment. Lately, however, she was feeling bolder and wanted to bring the tiny bitch out. A few times she took her to work, stuffing her in her back pocket and crushing her between an office chair and hundreds of tons of ass. Jess on more than one occasion found her stuffed down a shirt, in a bra, perky breasts pinning her into the padding and leaving her to rot while her owner laughed at work gatherings. Samantha made good on her promise to 'try' her in her vast collection of shoes, getting acquainted with them far more than she would have ever liked. One particularly humiliating incident came when she was pinned under her left foot in a cute pair of strappy heeled sandals, eavesdropping on a conversation around an outdoor table at brunch. Many of Jess's former friends were there, ones who would 'never be caught dead with that bitch Samantha'; were they lying, or simply didn't care now that she was out of the picture? They giggled, gossiped, talked about fashion and romance, a perfect copy of the conversations Jess once had around similar tables. She felt like a mortal privy to a conversation between olympian gods, hiding under the table, faces obscured and identities discernible only from the shoes they wore. Increasingly Jess saw that outside world as centered around her owner, heard from between tons of flesh, or seen vaguely from between her toes. A world whose center she once occupied, now getting along perfectly fine without her.

The night of that brunch she dreamt of her owner as a goddess again, one of many of a superior class of being, above her, along with her former friends. They strode around marble halls in togas and sandals, giggling, never deigning to glance at the floor and step to avoid crushing poor little Jessy. She used to be one of them, right? So tall and proud, untouchable... She couldn't have been, not in this life.

She awoke from that dream in the early morning, the light from the windows thin and blue. What was awaiting her today? Samantha's sleeping body formed a mountain range under her sheets. It was a Saturday, thankfully, so she'd do more than rot in this cage while her owner worked. A trip to the gym seemed likely, a few sweaty hours sealed in her gym shorts. "You need your exercise too hun," Samantha would say, justifying placing her on the treadmill while no one was looking and making her run for her life, or using her app to manipulate her like a wind-up toy; though it seemed she was more and more content to go hours without talking to her now, just wordlessly dropping her down the back of her shorts and leaving her there until she was home. After that she'd probably force her to shower with her, crushed under an unrelenting torrent of water. Then? It was anyone's guess -- a trip to a fancy restaurant? Inviting a friend over? Jessy tried her best to enjoy this brief break, before another day faced her.

---

Tuesdays were difficult, and Jessy found herself feeling impatient by the time the sun had gone down. Mistress Samantha had meetings last thing Tuesday -- principally about the still ongoing merger between the tiny girl's former company and Samantha's; the last evidence of her existence outside of her owner being looted and dissolved. When she heard the jangling of keys at the door she became almost giddy, that she would be used to alleviate her owner's stress; it was some form of recognition, something to do... maybe she'd even receive a compliment.

Samantha lay prone on her couch, letting Jessy crawl over the plush wrinkles of her slender feet. The tiny girl put all her effort into kneading the thick, doughy, slightly warm skin while her owner casually scrolled through her phone, doing important human things, things she didn't need to trouble her tiny little brain with. Her purpose in life was simple: to serve her owner, nothing more. She remembered how much she hated this when she began her new life, how hard she fought against Samantha, how humiliated and degraded she felt at having to do whatever she said, not least this, worshiping the lowest part of her body, as if saying 'your feet are better than me', let alone the entirety of the gigantic goddess. In the end, why shouldn't she? Jessy was really never happy, really -- her friends and family obviously didn't care for her, she hadn't thought about the expensive clothes or jewellery that dominated her former desires for months, and she let her pettiness and envy get away from her, attracting drama to her constantly -- drama with grave consequences, ultimately. Rubbing her owner's feet was oddly therapeutic, familiar, comforting; really, she was of some use to somebody, unlike her former vain existence, where she just leeched money and status from her father, serving no one. Her life was simple now, she existed for Samantha, who loomed gigantic in her mind, desperate to please her and receive those lovely scarce words of praise.

Really, why wouldn't she worship Samantha? Of course, she hated her, though it seemed she almost needed to remind herself of that during times like this. The power difference between them was immense -- regardless of Samantha's gigantic stature, which was emphasised every time she was in the immense woman's presence, she was forced to bear witness to her lifestyle from between her toes, a lifestyle similar to the one she lost. Wearing the nicest clothes, going to the most expensive restaurants, rubbing shoulders with celebrities. Due to the acquisition of her father's company, Samantha was growing richer than Jessy ever had. She was like a perfect being, talented, smart, successful, gorgeous, adorable, innocent... and that was to another human, on top of that, Samantha utterly dominated her physically and metally, controlling the inner recesses of her mind and able to instantly squelch her out of existence with a tiny foot which would immediately slip into some tastefully adorable high heels like nothing had ever happened. The tiny girl found it difficult to even recall her owner from before, when Jessy was the taller one by a few inches and was convinced of her superiority; her mind rejected that now, unable to consider her as anything but a semi-mythical entity who controlled her in and out, using her for cheap pleasures and demeaning tasks. She didn't know if it was something done to her by Samantha, some little feature she toggled on, but when she looked at her, she almost glowed. Like in her dreams, she gave of the holy aura of perfection, of superiority -- Jessy felt reverent and humble in her presence. It was only nature, she felt, somehow, that this is the way things should be.

Her thoughts of inferiority were disrupted when Samantha casually kicked her feet over her back, like a schoolgirl. Jessy latched on to her slender second toe, holding on for dear life; Samantha merely forgot of her presence, as she so often did. All it took was a mere wiggle of her digits and Jessy fell, landing with a slight bounce against her owner's behind. She felt her and looked over her shoulder. Realising what she'd accidentally done, she chuckled to herself. Jessy was glowing inside, she had made her owner happy, even if it was a mere chuckle at her expense. The gigantic woman rolled over on her luxurious sofa, knocking Jessy off and forcing her to scramble away lest she be crushed. Samantha returned to her phone, kicking her feet before the tiny girl wordlessly, knowing that she knew what to do. In the shade of her towering bus-sized 5.5s, Jessy fulfilled her one purpose in life.

Samantha realised Jessy had been on her best behaviour recently. Her flare ups, bouts of disrespect, had all but disappeared. She seemed resigned to her position beneath her, finally where she belonged. The systematic crushing of her rival had been an endless source of joy, and in the aftermath she had a totally broken and obedient toy; like those STEM nerds said, all about positive and negative reinforcement. For that reason, however, Samantha felt no need to pay any attention whatsoever to her pet; no rewards or punishments, no acknowledgements whatsoever. Honestly, Samantha was even growing a little bored of her plaything. Shifting her feet effortlessly, she pinned Jessy to the opposite footrest of the sofa. "Jessy, baby," she began, sickly sweet.

"Y-yes?" Jessy replied, demurely, secretly giddy and almost starstruck that her goddess spoke to her.

"Do you remember when I first got you, and I said there was one thing that you could give me that I wanted?"

The memory was coming back to her, she did remember: admit Samantha was better than her. "Y-yes, Mistress Samantha."

Samantha smiled, her eyes sparkling behind her round wire frame glasses. "Now usually I wouldn't give you a second change after you LIED to me like that," with faux venom in her voice. "But, you've been such a good girl recently, I think I'll ask you again. So, hunny, who's better? Me or you?"

"You, Mistress Samantha." Jessy said unthinkingly, but she meant it. It just seemed the natural thing to say. Of course she was, Jessy didn't feel 'brainwashed', she simply felt better educated. Samantha was better than her; it was true when Jessy was human-sized, it was even more true now. It was an honour to be entertainment to her.

"Speak up hunny," starting the exact same routine as last time.

"You are my superior, in every way, Mistress Samantha," Jessy said, louder, averting her gaze from that perpetually beaming face. Samantha looked down at her phone: no lie detected. This pleased her immensely, she deserved a victory lap, maybe with her pet right there under her shoe to enjoy it. Short of that, however, she realised she had nothing to do tonight, and remembered what her plan had been all along.

"Good, I'm glad I managed to knock some sense into that tiny little head of yours." She let the tiny girl slip down the rest, falling into the shadow of her feet. She took her into her hand with ease, holding her up right before her adorable freckled face, the face that Jessy had grown to love and admire after so much punishment. "I'm so glad this little feud is over, after all these years. Seems like everything worked out just fine in the end." Jessy agreed. "I will say though, I am a little bored of you." Jessy visibly reacted; she was pathetic, of course, she had no self-respect, she felt she barely existed away from her ownership by Samantha. She had nightmares of the gigantic girl growing bored of her and choosing to simply crush her, or let her rot in an old pair of shoes, discarded. Those were the worst nightmares, where she remembered the hatred she originally felt at her hands, the humiliation of being Samantha fucking Blackburn's obedient servant. Samantha knew of course, she could read the girl like the a book, she knew all her fears, insecurities, weaknesses, even now she knew she was squirming at the fear of her one true goddess abandoning her. "I know how we can have some more fun together though," Samantha smirked.

She walked into her room, finding under her bed the box she received Jessy in, still with a her-sized indent right in the foam. What was she doing? Why back here? Was she sending her to someone else? She prayed not, she loved Samantha, truly, she was a goddess, a beautiful freckle-cheeked goddess. She loved licking her feet, she loved being her sex toy, she finally, for the first time, had meaning in life: bringing joy to this perfect woman. She was hyperventilating as Samantha gave her a little wave goodbye, 'toodle-oo', before sealing her back into the foam prison. Samantha got up her app: erase memories: present until before the date she got her. With a single press the obedient, slavish Jessy was gone, outliving herself as a source of fun for the only person in her life who mattered. Samantha was looking forward to this again, imagining different ways to go about breaking her. Samantha reopened her present greedily. Jessica emerged from the box screaming.