Giantess Stories: TEN DAYS OF HELL By Seabee    PROLOGUE   I suppose I am still alive

Giantess Movie Clips Enjoy more than 1000 giantess anime, commercials, music and game videos

 

TEN DAYS OF HELL

By Seabee

PROLOGUE

I suppose I am still alive, but sometimes I have serious doubts. How long have

these toes been my entire universe? Hours? Days? Weeks? Please allow me to

explain.

Until I experienced the incredible power of my teacher, Michelle Boles, I was a

normal high school student. I may have had a pretty bad attitude at times (like

most teenagers), but I made reasonably good grades and involved myself in

various school activities. My high school was very small, and nestled right in

the heart of a tiny Southern town. It was so small, in fact, that even the

smallest bits of gossip had a way of traveling throughout the entire school at a

speed rivaling light! It was just such a bit of gossip that landed me where I am

today: unable to move, amounting to little more than an ant-sized stain on the

insole of a well-worn shoe.

Ms. Michelle Boles was by far the prettiest teacher in the school, as well as

the toughest. School legend held that she had never given out an A in her

career. Although she was in her late 30's, she appeared much younger. She had

curly, sandy brown hair, and some of the bluest eyes I have ever seen. Although

not particularly tall, her slender frame combined with her ever-present high

heels made her appear much taller. I had had a small crush on Ms. Boles ever

since I entered high school, even though I knew it was silly. With her simple

beauty and sexy voice, she never failed to make me 'pay attention,' even during

the most boring of English classes.

One day, a brand new rumor blazed its way around the schoolyard: it seemed that

Ms. Boles was having an affair with Coach Cameron, head of the boy's basketball

team. At first I refused to believe it, but the rumor persisted. It seemed that

sightings of the two in various romantic positions were becoming more common

than UFOs on the X-Files, and it became harder and harder to dismiss the story.

The last straw for me came when Grant Parker (one of the most honest people I

had ever met) swore up and down that he had spotted the pair kissing backstage

in the auditorium. Full of mixed emotions (jealousy?), I knew I had to find out

for myself.

THE BEGINNING (MONDAY)

I devised a simple plan. Ms. Boles' classroom was in the interior of the school,

and therefore it was one of the few rooms on campus that had no windows. It made

sense that if the two wanted to engage in some type of romantic dalliance on the

school grounds, they would most likely venture there. I decided to hide there

after school on Monday with my camera and tape recorder, and hope to catch a few

shots of the amorous duet. Armed with photos like that, I may even be able to

make the first A ever in her class!

I set up shop underneath her desk. It had a solid back, so you could not see

under it from the front. I doubted she would sit there, because she never even

used her desk during school-she always stood in the front of the room or sat on

a small stool beside the chalkboard. I hadn't been in place very long when

suddenly my heart started beating fast-someone was coming! No, wait . . . two

people were coming! Sure enough, before I knew it, a door slammed and Ms. Boles

and Coach Cameron were hitting it hard! I had the tape recorder rolling, and was

picking up a virtual cavalcade of pants, moans, and grunts. They were making so

much noise, that I didn't believe there was any way in the world they would hear

my camera shutter. I had to have at least one picture! I eased out from under

the desk, peeked around the corner, took aim, and pressed the button.

Click.

Have you ever had one of those moments when everyone in a room seemed to get

quiet at once, and only your voice was heard (invariably in the midst of saying

something of an intensely embarrassing nature)? I had a similar experience right

at that moment. Ms. Boles and Coach Cameron apparently both inhaled at the same

time-the very moment my camera clicked. Through the viewfinder I saw two heads

whirl in my direction at the same time, and my heart suddenly stopped beating.

At first, no one moved. We all just sat in stunned silence and stared. My first

instinct was to run, but I knew it would do no good-they both knew full well who

I was. Then the thought occurred: 'Wait a minute! I have the upper hand here! I

am the one with the photo that could cost both members of this amorous duo their

jobs!' With an arrogance that only the truly young or truly stupid can exhibit,

I smirked and said, 'Gotcha!'

Anger flashed through the coach's eyes, and he jumped towards me. Just as he was

reaching out to wring my neck, I heard a second voice command 'STOP!' It sounded

similar to Ms. Boles, yet somehow darker . . . colder . . . more forceful. I saw

the anger in Coach Cameron's eyes change instantly to fear. A lump began to form

in the pit of my stomach. She spoke again: 'Leave us.' The coach did not

hesitate in moving towards the door. As he reached for the door, he glanced back

one final time. This time I detected yet another emotion lurking behind his

eyes. Was that . . . pity?

Ms. Boles sat quietly for a long time after Coach Cameron closed the door. She

simply stared at me. Finally she stood up, walked over to the door, and locked

it. This was such a small, petite woman, so why was I terrified? She walked back

over and stared me right in the eyes. I struggled to meet her gaze. At long

last, she began to speak:

'What did you want? Pictures? An audiotape? Why? To blackmail us? Or maybe to

jerk off to later? It is really a shame-I really did like you. You used to be a

good student. You used to have a lot of potential.'

Her voice seemed wistful and dry. Some unknown terror had seized my body, and I

had no chance of escaping it. An overwhelming sense of dread flooded the room.

Why was she referring to me in the past tense? I was still here, and I didn't

plan on leaving! If anyone was leaving this school, I thought, it was here!

I was wrong.

She continued speaking, and here words resonated down my spine. 'You do realize,

of course, that you will never show anyone that picture. No one will ever hear

that tape. You do realize that . . . you will never leave this room.' Almost as

an afterthought she added, 'At least, by yourself.'

I simply can't describe the next three seconds. I took half a step towards the

door, when suddenly all five of my senses seemed to instantly overload. All the

cells in my body felt as though they exploded in unison. I heard a horrific

sound as lights whirled in front of my eyes. I tried in vain to scream, but

then, just as suddenly: it was over.

You would think that a human mind could not accept suddenly being reduced to

ant-sized, but somehow I knew instantly what had happened. I saw the scuffed tip

of here shoe in front of me, and her head floating miles overhead. I saw a human

hair on the ground in front of me, coiled like a thick rope. In fact, I saw bits

of trash and dirt all around me that ordinarily would have been far too

inconsequential to note. Then I became aware of something else- Ms. Boles was

reaching for me.

My nightmare was about to begin.

I instinctively braced myself as the tips of her fingers closed on me, but I was

shocked to discover that I felt no pain at all. Somehow my body had acquired an

almost elastic-like quality, giving in a little as she squeezed. She held me up

before here eyes, and I witnessed the coldest, most sincerely evil smile I had

ever seen. She began to play with my body, almost as if she were testing its

capabilities. If she held me between two fingers and pushed, she could actually

reduce me to an almost invisible fraction of an inch! If she pulled instead, I

would slightly expand to about an inch! I tried with every ounce of my will to

effectuate my own size-change, but to no avail-it was obvious that Ms. Boles was

now in complete control. All I could do is wait for my fate to reveal itself. I

didn't have to wait long.

Her voice ripped through me like a shotgun blast: 'You are going to die, tiny

one. Maybe not today, but soon. Your body will never be found. As you teacher,

however, I feel it is my duty to teach you a few things before you disappear

forever from this earth. You will have ten days to learn that the female body is

to be worshipped and adored, not spied upon. In ten day, you will become very

intimate with every inch of my body, and you will learn to worship it as your

new universe. At the end of that ten days, I shall decide how to end your life.'

'By the way, it is useless to attempt escape.' With those words she set me down

on the desk. I tried to get up, but I found my body to be completely

unresponsive. 'As you can see,' she continued, 'I slightly altered my spell. You

cannot move your body if it is not in contact with mine. Thus, you would not get

very far.' After speaking these words, she merely smiled, picked me up again,

and dropped me in a pocket. 'Get some rest tonight. Your lessons start

tomorrow.'

I was plunged into darkness, but at least I could move again while inside her

pocket. I thought about her face, her body, her voice, and everything I had ever

found attractive about Ms. Michelle Boles. Suddenly it no longer seemed so

alluring! I felt if I could just survive the next ten days, maybe she would have

a change of heart. What else could I do? I fell into a deep despair and awaited

morning.

DAY ONE (TUESDAY)

'Good morning, little ant. Are you ready for your first lesson? You will learn

to love my hair today. I'd hang on, if I were you.' These were the only words

that were spoken to me all day. I suddenly found myself tightly bound by an

auburn rope. The ground beneath me was approximately level, so I knew I must be

near the top of her scalp. I estimated my size at a quarter inch. The next thing

I knew, my dense prison was thrust into continuous motion- Ms. Boles had begun

to move.

As she sat down for breakfast, I took stock of my situation. I was held tightly,

but I was not in pain (thanks in no small part, I'm sure, to the elastic

properties of my miniscule body). An oily smell hung in the air, and I began to

feel a thin film of oil collecting on my skin. This was removed as she showered,

however, and my new priority was not to drown in either the water or the

shampoo! I felt her fingers press, prod, and knead me as she caressed the

shampoo into her scalp.

Next my skin was singed as she dried and curled her hair, all in preparation for

spending the day in school. I almost lost consciousness as her hairspray

fumigated my new world, but I managed to hold on. When she arrived at the high

school, I screamed in agony and terror, but there was no way my tiny, tiny voice

could be audible to the human ear. I was constantly bounced and jerked as Ms.

Boles turned and moved her head. Occasionally, tiny bits of scalp, dirt, or

sweat would collect within my reach, allowing me the only nourishment I would

find during my 24-hour ordeal.

I listened as Ms. Boles taught her class in the normal way, completely ignoring

the fact that she had a small man languishing in her light brown locks. She even

called my name twice when she was taking roll, and appeared to be irritated by

my absence! I longed to be back at my desk, my life again normal, but that was

not to be. I was no more than a minor scalp irritation to my giant teacher,

barely staying in one piece as her huge fingernails would reach up to quickly

scratch the itch I must be creating. Although I could not see them, I could hear

my former classmates milling about, completely oblivious to the fact that I was

so close at hand.

I remained in position all day, from school, to the gym (where I suffered in

agony under a sweat-soaked baseball cap), back to her home. By the time Ms.

Boles' bedtime rolled around, I was once again covered in a thick film of oil,

and begged for release from my bondage. She slept through the night with me

still bound to her scalp, sometimes rolling the weight of her head on top of me.

I finally slept, and dreaded what my next lesson may be.

DAY TWO (WEDNESDAY)

I awoke upon Ms. Boles fingertip, looking up into an impossibly large eye. She

began to speak, once again marking the only time my existence would be

acknowledged during the day: 'You spent enough time learning to love my hair.

Today I think I need to keep an eye on you.'

That is exactly what she did.

I was compressed until I was little more than the size of a piece of dust, and

deftly perched upon a single eyelash. I tightly wrapped my arms and legs around

the hair, horrified of what would happen should I fall. I had no need to

worry-the next thing I saw was what appeared to be a huge black monster with a

thousand arms approaching me: Ms. Boles was applying her mascara.

The mascara roughly brushed through her eyelashes, drenching me in a thick coat

of black goo. I had just enough time to wipe my face clean before it hardened,

effectively gluing me to the eyelash. As Ms. Boles blinked for the first time, I

felt my stomach rise into my throat-my entire body was pumped up and down

continuously at impossible speeds.

The eyes that I once felt were so beautiful now filled me with unspeakable

horror. If I craned my head around, I could peer directly into Ms. Boles'

blimp-sized eyeball, watching it roll and jerk as she glanced around her. I

stayed in place all day, and for the first time saw all of my mountainous

classmates as she taught the English class. I uselessly screamed out to them,

but they remained completely oblivious to my existence on their teacher's eye.

If they only knew.

My nerve-wracking journey ended when Ms. Boles finally fell asleep. I was still

hopelessly adhered to here eyelash, but at least I was no longer being bounced

up and down like a human basketball. All I could do now was wait until morning.

DAY THREE (THURSDAY)

I awakened as water drenched my body. I found myself on a counter, and the huge

waterfall that had just engulfed me was merely an errant splash of water from

the sink. Since I was no longer touching Ms. Boles, my body was paralyzed, and I

had no choice but to wait patiently for my next assignment, despite the

knowledge that my entire life was in the hands of my beautiful (but deadly)

teacher.

'Ah, you're awake!' she exclaimed. 'Excellent! Today is a very special day for

you! I realized last night that I have been very inconsiderate, and that I

haven't even taken the time find out how you're doing. Well, today I am going to

spend the entire day listening to you!'

I knew instantly where I would be spending the day.

Sure enough, I was soon balanced on a Q-tip, which was inserted into Ms. Boles'

ear. I was roughly pressed into a sticky wall, which I quickly surmised was

actually a wall of flesh coated with a foul wax. A dreadful stench permeated the

air, and although I could move, my feet and hands would quickly sink into the

yellowish mire. Soon I was as hopelessly enmeshed as a fly on flypaper.

A small amount of light streamed in from the opening to her ear, so I was at

least able to look around (not that there was much of a view). My new

environment was composed entirely of shiny skin, wax, and hair. I also learned

that Ms. Boles was not being sincere when she offered to listen to me: each

noise I made was greeted with a vigorous shake of her head, only lodging me

deeper into the thick wax.

The day continued to drag on. I listened to a lecture on dangling prepositions,

and vigorously prayed (silently!) that my suffering would soon end. It was not

to be.

DAY FOUR (FRIDAY)

'TGIF!' These were the words that greeted me as I inched back into

consciousness. 'It's the last day of school this week, and you have been such a

good student so far! I hope you are learning well that my body is to be loved

and worshipped!

'Today I am going to allow you to do a great service for your teacher-you get to

keep my nose clean! I have had a touch of a cold lately, and I hate walking

around sniffling all day. So you just get in there and keep me clear for the

day, and maybe later I will go ahead and blow my nose and end things for good!'

She spoke these words with such a cheerful and pleasant tone that my mind could

simply not accept my fate-I was literally about to be plunged into a human nose!

My legs were grasped tightly between Ms. Boles' fingers, and I watched in horror

as her nostril enveloped my body. Soon her finger was pushing on the bottom of

my feet, and I was driven high into her nose. Her hungry snot quickly seized my

body, and I tried in vain to free myself. It was really true: I was a human

booger!

Air rushed back and forth across my face with each breath that she took, and my

viscous prison soon hardened, rendering my limbs useless once again. If I looked

down, I could see out of the nasal tunnel to her breasts miles below. I wonder

if she really was going to blow her nose, and then probably flush me away, but

it never happened-I simply spent 24 hours of hell encased in snot in my

teacher's nose.

Why did I ever try to spy on her?

DAY FIVE (SATURDAY)

I awoke with a start. A huge finger was digging into my balmy home, trying to

find me. Finally, I was scraped from the wall of Ms. Boles' nose, and rolled

between her fingertips like a small bit of trash. She pulled on my body,

enlarging it to about an inch in length, and hurriedly picked the dried mucous

from my body. She washed me in the sink, and began my daily lecture:

'My God-you must be starved! I don't know how you have managed to survive on a

diet of wax and snot! Today you get a special treat: all the food you can eat!'

I found my heart racing with excitement, although my mind knew better. This

woman was simply incapable of compassion, and I knew her offer must be too good

to be true. The funny thing is, I had not really been that hungry-I guess my

mind had been too preoccupied with the fact that I was a tiny slave to even

think much about food. That all ended with the suggestion of eating, and

suddenly my stomach was wracked with hunger. I watched in eager apprehension as

my teacher walked into the hallway, and gazed upon herself in the mirror.

Suddenly she bared her teeth (while maintaining the faint trace of a smile),

compacted me back to tiny size, and ruthlessly wedged me between her lower front

teeth.

So I would be 'learning to love' her mouth today. Great. Although I may have had

private fantasies of kissing this woman in the past, this was definitely not

what I had in mind. Her saliva swirled around my body, and I drank it with

gusto. She swallowed enough to allay any fears of drowning, but I still had to

struggle to keep my head from being smothered by the back wall of her lower lip.

She decided to eat breakfast, and I opened my mouth and occasionally snagged

small bits of egg, bacon, and bread as the incredibly powerful teeth ground them

to pieces above me. The orange juice slightly burned, but was quickly washed

away by her ever-present spit.

I was thankful that she was not teaching school today, because each word she

spoke reverberated through my head like a cacophony of jackhammers. My arms were

wedged too tightly to cover my ears, and an insatiable ringing in my ears

followed each sound she uttered. The noise was almost enjoyable, however,

compared to the horrible odor that would sometimes invade my oral home. I would

occasionally hear a deep gurgle, followed by a healthy belch, and my nostrils

would be assaulted by a truly gut-wrenching stench.

This continued throughout the day as Ms. Boles constantly talked, ate, drank,

burped, and rubbed me with her rough tongue. My stomach was finally full, but my

spirit was dangerously close to being broken. Once I endured a night of snoring

from my enamel confines, at least I would have made it halfway through my

'lessons.' I may not have been learning to love my teacher's body, but I was

certainly learning to respect it.

DAY SIX (SUNDAY)

I came barreling out of my Saturday world, attached to a piece of dental floss.

I continued to stick to the thick string in a clump of plaque as she continued

to clean between her remaining teeth, pulling out horrid bits of food and film.

I was unceremoniously dumped on the bathroom counter along with the discarded

floss, and my now useless body was forced to simply lie there as Ms. Boles

continued to primp in the mirror. I was again struck by her beauty, and nearly

forgot that this woman was a monster to be feared. Perhaps my lessons were

working, after all.

She glanced down my way after a few minutes and announced: 'It's almost time for

church, and it is time to find a new place for you to worship! You did an

excellent job all over my head, so I think it is time for the rest of my body.

Hmmm . . . I hear that the air conditioning was broken at the church, so maybe I

can find another use for you. I hate sweating, so I am going to count on you to

keep me cool today.'

With that, she grasped me, enlarged me a bit, and then pushed me roughly onto a

smooth white creamy surface. I had no idea what was going on until I saw an

underarm rapidly engulfing my field of vision: she had stuck me in her

deodorant! Sure enough, I was rubbed mercilessly onto a stubby field of moist

skin, and held in place by a generous application of stick deodorant. Soon I

felt a shirt lower around me, and then Ms. Adams dropped her arm to her side.

There is no way to convey the heat and pressure that suddenly accosted my sense.

I was rubbed raw by the friction that accompanied each movement of her arm. I

don't know how I was functioning as a deodorant (though my nose told me not

well), but I was certainly not being an effective antiperspirant! Her sweat

coated me, stinging my eyes and mouth. I heard her laughing and talking and

gesturing, as her audience remained unaware that each movement was adding to my

torture.

She left me under her arm all day, even during her weekly Sunday tennis match.

By the time she retired for the night (hugging me tightly to her skin with a

too-small T-shirt), I felt like I had literally been basted and cooked by the

sweat and heat. The odor caused me to faint numerous times, so at least the day

seemed to go by more quickly than usual. I didn't even want to imagine what else

she could possibly have in store.

DAY SEVEN (MONDAY)

When I opened my eyes, I appeared to be in some type of white boat. My body was

once again immobile, but far above I could see the nude upper body of my

tormentor. She was again getting ready for school, and had not yet acknowledged

my presence. It was the first time I had seen her without a bra, and her breasts

bobbled alluringly in front of her. They appeared perfectly round and smooth,

and I once again felt myself becoming aroused at the sight of this beautiful

woman.

Finally she glared down and flashed her gleefully sadistic smile. 'Today's the

day your dreams come true, tiny boy! You finally get to feel these!' she said,

as she gently massaged her breasts. Was the boat I was in actually . . . a bra?

It seemed impossible, but sure enough, the floor was lifted and I was on an

express ride to Bosomland. Her heavy boob-flesh slammed into me at high speed,

and movement returned to my limbs just in time to enable me to assume a

spread-eagle position just below her monstrous nipple. The world went dark as

she latched the bra behind her back, and I was pulled extremely tight against

her warm skin.

I had to time my breathing with her movements. I was only able to inhale as her

mammoth breast bobbled upwards, giving me a brief respite from the crushing

weight. I discovered that if I ran my hands against the rough, bumpy circle

surrounding her nipple, it would start to grow, and give me a tiny amount of

breathing room. Once again the heat was oppressive, and the sharp movements made

my head spin.

The worst part of the day was when she would take an opportunity to press her

fingers against my back, and grind me into her boob in a circular motion. I

don't know if she was trying to pleasure herself or torture me, but she seemed

to be doing both! Although my immediate environment was not quite as hostile as

past days, the flesh surrounding me just molded itself to my body, and I was

barely able to survive the relentless pounding pressure. I was no more than a

toy to this woman. She made that perfectly clear.

She slept with me still firmly molded to her breast, and only by the grace of

God did she not roll over onto her stomach, ending my life for good. I should be

so lucky.

DAY EIGHT (TUESDAY)

I had known this day was coming all along, but I was still not prepared for the

actual reality of the situation. My stint at Breast Central Station was brought

to an end when the alarm clock sounded on a warm Tuesday morning. Ms. Boles lied

around for a few minutes simply kneading me into her breast and nipple, before

finally pulling me out of her bra. It must have aroused her, because to give me

a hint of my new home, she pulled me out to a maximum height and held me over

her pussy. The smell hit me immediately.

I had had my share of ladies already, so I knew the intoxicating smell of a

woman's private parts, especially when she is turned on. But as strong as that

odor can be at normal size, once you are an inch tall, it is quite simply beyond

description. She held me there for a long time, slowly moving me up and down so

I could view every inch in all of its glory. I shuddered when I realized how

easily this mammoth set of lips could swallow me whole. This was going to be a

hard day.

She dropped me on the bed while she showered, the paralysis quickly squelching

any hopes of escape. She returned to the room completely naked, and stood beside

the bed as she finished toweling herself dry. She finally spoke: 'I have been

excited about this day. I know how you little boys always wanted to get into my

pants, so here is your big opportunity! You get to be teacher's little sex toy

today! Aren't you excited?! I hope you can hold your breath, or else your

lessons will end today!'

With that, she picked me up and brought me close to her pussy lips. Even they

seemed to be smiling! The smell had greatly subsided since her shower, at least

on the outside. Once my head made contact with her slick flesh, however, I was

once again overpowered by her sexual odor. Her stomach tightened as she slid me

into the slick tunnel. Everything went black as I felt my body being massaged by

her vaginal walls. She stopped pushing, and I knew I must be somewhere deep

inside her.

If I pushed forward with my arms and legs, I could open up her lips just enough

to allow a tiny bit of murky air to penetrate my dark wet cell. Unfortunately,

each time I pushed I was greeted by a contraction that threatened to crush my

body within its throes. In addition, it seemed to grow wetter and wetter by the

minute.

I heard the rustling noises as she put on her underwear and dress, and it grew

even hotter. As she walked, I was constantly ground back and forth, only leading

to more sexual arousal on the part of my teacher. By the time she arrived at

school, I was literally choking on her cum, and my nose was burning with her

scent. I knew death would come quickly if I lost consciousness, so I struggled

to keep pushing and kicking so I could get air.

I wondered if I would ever want to have sex again if I should live through this

ordeal, but somehow I knew the point was moot. She could not allow me to live.

She could not allow her secret to be revealed. I was destined to die a tiny sex

toy for my giant teacher. All I could do was try to survive day by day. Of

course, that was much easier said than done.

I managed to make it through the day inside Ms. Boles' pussy, and even found my

surroundings somewhat comfortable as she laid down to sleep. Although my body

was almost completely stiff from her dried cum, my stomach was once again full

(as I couldn't help but swallow tons of her discharge during the day), and I

felt warm and safe. Maybe the worst was over.

Wrong.

DAY NINE (WEDNESDAY)

I awoke to once again find myself ultra-tiny and laying on the tip of Ms. Boles'

finger. Her eyes seemed to literally shine with a new-found sense of cruelty,

and I began to shake in apprehension, panic, and fear. I felt my stomach

convulsing as I heard her words:

'You little asshole. You are nothing but a little tiny piece of shit. I have

been given so much shit lately at school about Coach Cameron, that I think it is

my turn to give you a little!'

Her laugh chilled me to the bone. She grasped me between her fingers and

proceeded to rub my head up and down her butt cheeks. I shuddered at the small

bumps and hairs, but she was obviously enjoying the feel of my tiny face against

her ass. She then began to slowly rub me up and down the length of her crack,

and I had to close my eyes and hold my breath to keep from throwing up. The

inner ridges seemed to take a layer of skin off my face, and I screamed for her

to stop!

After what seemed like hours, she finally stopped and held me once again up to

her face. With a completely blank expression, she softly whispered three simple

words: 'Enjoy your day.'

She bent over, and in a blur I was whisked back to her ass, and I found my head

being forced into her pungent asshole. I yelled out in pain and fear, but only

succeeded in filling my mouth with what felt like skin and sweat. I was jammed

in up to my waist, but my legs were left to dangle on the outside. She stood up

straight, and every trace of air in my lungs was forced out by the crushing

pressure.

As she began to move, my body felt as though it were being forced through a

wringer-tremendous muscles pumped, flexed, and hardened around me. What little

air remained available to me was filled with a stench so powerful, so real, that

it was almost tangible. I cursed and spit and vomited, but only succeeded in

lodging myself deeper into her acrid hole. Each step revealed a new level of

torture, and I felt sure that I would die here as a human dingleberry.

Despite my suffering, nothing prepared me for what happened next: Ms. Boles

decided to take a seat. I felt the downward momentum, and then everything went

black as I felt my body flatten under the squashing tonnage. I guess it was the

same devilish magic that made me my current size that kept me from dying right

then and there, but it was obvious that she wasn't through with me yet. She kept

me prisoner in and under her ass all day, and the English language simply does

not have the words to describe the mind-numbing torture I experienced.

I did have several respites from my position in her caustic asshole, but they

were not welcome rests. I would hear a horrible grumbling noise, and then I

would suddenly be assaulted by a foul blast of air that would burn my nose and

skin and shoot me forcefully into Ms. Boles' cotton underwear. Before I would

even have the chance to recover, however, she would simply stick her finger back

in her hole and shove me way up inside, further than ever.

As she slept that night, I prayed for death. I had finally given up all hope and

the will to live. I tried to move around inside her ass, perhaps to recover some

feeling in my extremities, but it was no use. I was truly nothing more than a

tiny piece of shit to my gargantuan teacher.

DAY TEN (THURSDAY)

THE ENDING

This was it-the final day. I awoke with a mixture of total fear and relief. I

had somehow ended up deep, deep within Ms. Boles' ass during the night, and she

was forced to take her morning shit to remove me from my smelly hiding place. I

floated helplessly in the toilet, and hoped that she would just flush me away

and end this madness. But luck had not been my strong suit for the past ten

days. She closed the lid and left me in odorous darkness while she finished

getting ready, before finally fishing me out with a net from her aquarium. She

laid my paralyzed body on the counter, and spoke to me for the final time:

'Here it is, tiny boy. Time for your last lesson. Now that you have learned to

truly appreciate my body, there is nothing else I can teach you. Therefore, I'm

afraid it is the end of the line for you. I haven't exactly decided on a fitting

end for a Peeping Tom like you yet, but I'm sure I will get some inspiration by

the end of the day. At any rate, today you get to learn your true place in

relation to women-you are now nothing but dirt under my feet.'

With that, she lifted me up, pushed me down to near microscopic size, and held

me over a navy blue high heel she had just popped off her foot. I felt the heat

rising from the leather long before I was actually inserted, but by the time she

dropped me, I truly knew what Hell must feel like. The bottom of the shoe burned

my skin, and I slid down towards the shadow at the toe of the shoe as she tilted

it within her hand. I was starting to feel a little bit better when something

huge suddenly filled my field of vision: Michelle Boles' toes.

Each toe was the size of a house compared to my miniscule stature, and I saw

detail in them that I am sure no man had ever witnessed before. Long before they

encapsulated me, I saw the small grooves and ridges making up my teacher's toe

prints. I saw the tiny bits of dead skin and small hangnails flaking off from

all over. I saw the little bitty bits of dirt and grime that had already been

ground into her foot from the small amount of walking she had already done. And

I saw the horrifying motion her toes made as they raised and spread in

anticipation of pinning their tiny captive.

Sure enough, I was slammed to the floor of the shoe as the toes covered me. All

I could do was lie still as they pushed me deep into the smelly insole of the

shoe. She began to walk, and each crushing step caused bright lights to flash

before my eyes, despite the blackness surrounding me. It only took seconds for

the heat to rise to oven-like levels, and for the fumes wafting from her entire

foot to cause my face to burn and swell.

She contented herself during the day to play with me like a tiny pebble, and

bounce her foot as if she was keeping time with her favorite song. I bounced

from her toes to the ball of her foot, on to her arch, and even under her rough,

rough heel. I have no idea how I kept from becoming a tiny stain, but I somehow

managed to survive as a speck of foot-dirt.

After a couple of hours at the school, I was beginning to believe I may survive

the day in my teacher's shoe after all, but that's when I heard a voice I

recognized immediately: it was Melanie. Melanie was the girl I had had my eye on

for years. She had straight blond hair and a dynamite body, but I never had the

courage to ask her out. If she only knew how close I was to her as spoke to Ms.

Boles at her desk. Though I was currently centered directly under a monstrous

big toe, I could just make out the words being spoken: Melanie was informing her

teacher that she would not be in school tomorrow, because her family was leaving

early to go to the mountains for the weekend. She laughed and said she hoped

that her shoes would make it, because she didn't have any hiking boots.

I knew instantly the shoes she was talking about: she wore the same pair every

day. Melanie had an incredibly ragged-out pair of black, hard-leather flats that

she had worn to school (without socks) every single day for the past three

years. I had even given her a hard time about them once, complaining that I

could smell them as soon as she entered the room (which I could)!

At any rate, this line of conversation seemed to excite Ms. Boles for some

reason, because she pushed her toe hard into the sole of her shoe, literally

imbedding my body deep within her toe-flesh. I was unable to free myself, and I

felt as if I had been glued to her toe-pad. She asked Melanie if she was

seriously going to wear those shoes the entire weekend, and once she got an

affirmative answer, she asked her to stop by her desk after class.

Despite this rather strange conversation, the thought that she might actually

dispose of me by passing me off to someone else never crossed my mind. I would

learn very soon.

Once class ended, I was still helplessly stuck to the bottom of my teacher's

smelly big toe while she began talking to Melanie. She told her that she was

considering purchasing a pair of shoes like she was wearing, and wanted to know

if they were comfortable. It was Melanie that asked if she wanted to try one on,

and she readily agreed. Careful not to let me drop from her toe, she slipped off

her pump and inserted her tiny-man-accessorized foot into Melanie's flat leather

shoe.

How can I even begin to describe the smell? Imagine rotten cheese, eggs, fish,

and fruit being left out in the sun for days, and then dropped in a dump and

covered in shit. Are you getting the idea? The same shoes that nearly choked me

from across the room at normal size now became my universe as Ms. Boles dragged

her toe across the bottom, ripping me loose and causing me to fall onto the

dirt-blackened leather sole. As she withdrew her foot, I wanted to run and

scream, but the no-contact-with-her-body paralysis set in, and all I could do

was internally tremble.

The light was replaced with a sweat-soaked foot sole, which rapidly descended

upon me, and seemed not to notice the tiny human-shaped obstacle in its path.

Melanie's foot was much smoother than Ms. Boles', and felt almost squishy and

smooshy. It easily grew accustomed to my presence, and merely mashed me into the

horrible insole like one more piece of inconsequential dirt. My paralysis did

not leave, and all I could do was dry-heave as the pain, stench, and pressure

overpowered me.

EPILOGUE

Melanie made good on her promise to wear these shoes to the mountains, and she

has worn them every day since. I am thoroughly ground into her insole below her

toes, and I can only survive by allowing the occasional sweat, dirt, or skin to

drop into my mouth. I don't know how long I have been here or how long I will

manage to survive: I guess everyone has long forgotten about me by now. Who

knows? Maybe Melanie will one day buy a new pair of shoes, and I will simply be

discarded to slowly starve and die. Until then, I will remain simply a human

stain under a teenager's foot.

Giantess Stories: TEN DAYS OF HELL By Seabee    PROLOGUE   I suppose I am still alive

Acording with the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (“DMCA”), Pub. L. 105-304 If you believe that your copyrighted work is being infringed, notify our team at the email [email protected]