Below, you have the third Evil Laura shrinking story, as saved from her site. The story is sadly unfinished. According to her introduction, the plot was suggested to her by an email she received from a slave. So, after the story breaks (apparently, she lost interest) she quotes the original email so that the readers know how her story would have developed.
Enjoy.
[reproduction of a story originally posted to Laura's website]
"July 9th, 1998 — Definitive Version
This is a fairly long story (16,400 words) so please allow the page some time to load.
Disclaimer: this story contains various passages not suitable for a healthy brain to digest and it is intended for the seriously demented only — the author included. If you don't fit in this category, please leave now or continue and consider yourself forewarned. My target audience is, mostly, pathetic tiny men who get their kicks from reading about the exploits of sexy evil women as myself. You'll all get a chance to appear here and be squashed, my dear slaves, I assure you. And, secondly, this story is also intended for my peers, my fellow evil giantesses, in the understanding that collaboration and communication are the best ways to crush as many men as possible. Keep squishing, gals!
Evil Queen Laura III:
The Sandal Strap
by the Goddess of Perversity Herself, a.k.a. Tormentress Supreme, Epitome of Satanic Loveliness, Towering Titaness of Destruction, Evil Seductress, Omnipotent Deity Of Destruction, Tormentress from Hell, Titanic Goddess of Terror, Evil Incarnate, Destroyer of Men, etc. (I haven't made up any of these titles — they are all sweet flatteries from my slaves; as they come up with more titles, I'll add them to the list...) & Ian
I
It all began with a jerk and his annoying question: “But would you really do it?” he asked, on his very first e-mail to me.
And I replied: “Of course I would. I’m Evil Laura, the Goddess of Perversity. That’s what I do. Maybe you should have asked a different question: would I really miss the chance of doing it? Don’t bet on it: crushing tiny men is still one of my favorite pastimes!”
But the guy wouldn’t lay off: “No, no. That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about real life here. If this wasn't fantasy and I could really be shrunk would you REALLY crunch my little body for REAL in real life? Kill a human being in cold blood? Please tell me, I need to know! Gosh, if only it could come true!”
Keep this last sentence in mind and you won’t even have to read this story: after all, you already know all that is going to happen...
I fear I’m not conveying what a pain in the neck this guy was, but I don’t want to bore you like he bored me. This mail I have just quoted was sent to me not just once or twice: several variations of it were piling up in my inbox folder.
“Evil Laura” told him yes, she would do it, yes, she was the wickedest of them all, yes, she would squish him beneath her soles, blah blah blah. After all, when I incorporate the Evil Laura “persona”, I’m really capable of remorselessly destroying an entire city!
Our correspondence grew, he worshipped me more and more and I have to admit I enjoyed his praises, how he thought my evilness was so sexy, how he would love to give his life to me. And I made good on the offer: I stepped on him several times — to his everlasting delight, needless to say — not to mention some other cruelties, and everything was going as smoothly as a Giantess mailing fantasy could. The only problem was the repetitive question that still closed all of his letters: “But really, in real life, no role-playing, would you be able to do it?”
[This story, by the late Evil Laura, has been republished to the Evil Women blog (http://mulheresmalvadas.blogspot.com), the new home of Laura's stories. Please refer/link back to us if you reproduce or talk about this story, and don't remove this disclaimer.]
Finally, one day he caught me in an exceptionally good mood and I decided to drop the “Evil Laura” persona for a while and give him a real life answer. I told him no, of course not. I’m a total vegetarian and I don’t even wear leather — somehow that always makes me think of Bootslave and his Boot Goddess stories. *sigh* I would never have qualified as one of this leather jacket Boot Goddesses. Anyway, I told the guy that I even considered fishing to be immoral: men had no right to go out killing other animals, whether cattle or oysters. So, I would be the last person to actually kill anything!
But don’t you even step on bugs?, he asked. Curiously, the answer was still no. I have met women on the Internet who walked into the Giantess world through the “crushing” door: they’ve always had some perverse pleasure in crushing bugs and other animals, eventually they began to fantasize that those bugs were tiny men and... Bingo! They were Giantesses.
As for myself, as I always explain, I came into the Giantess community through the opposite door. I always had this mean streak in me since my earliest age: I admired the TV and comic book’s villainesses and, when I had my girlish daydreams, I was never the damsel in distress but always the sexy villainess, sexy and in control, trying to take over the world. Then, a foot-fetish freak of a boyfriend came along, whose idea of a perfect day was to suck my toes from morning till night, and I began to learn how to use his obsession in my favor. Before he could reach my so treasured feet, he had to humiliate himself and to submit to all kinds of cruelties I would devise. And, in the end, we were both happy: he was finally tasting my toes — god knows he had to endure some hardships to get there! :) — and I was feeling malignant, evil and powerful, with a broken man by my feet who would have undergone any of my wicked games for the dubious “privilege” of licking the dirt of my royal soles. As the relationship progressed, I probed him further, trying to find out how far would he go for my feet: the humiliations became harsher and, when it all finally ended, I was still trying to devise more and different ways to use my very feet to be cruel to him. So, I found myself single and with an even meaner streak than before — not to mention that I had learned to enjoy having my feet pampered and worshipped. That was my frame of mind when I discovered the Giantess world. I was excited, first of all, because being a Giantess was the culmination of my earliest fantasies: the chance to be evil on a mega scale, to do massive destruction, to take over the world, to be a villainess! But being a Giantess also meant an instant answer to the problem I was struggling with for months and that was still on the back of my mind: how to be as evil as possible with my feet! A Giantess’ foot is a murder weapon “par excellence”: I could do anything! Now, on my lonely nights, I fantasized about squeezing my former boyfriend to death between the toes he had sucked so much and these sort of things: if I had only discovered Giantesses a few months earlier...
Well, sorry for the detour but I was only trying to explain how could I have become such an Evil Giantess without first passing through the stage of live bug crushing. I have never crushed a bug and I never will: nor ants nor any other animal. I’m first and foremost an evil woman, then I’m an evil giantess, but always evil to men only, not to some tiny defenseless creature.
My cyber-slave, however, wasn’t going to leave it at that: “I can’t believe it! Not even bugs! What kind of evil giantess are you? I don’t believe you have never stepped on a bug.” and it went on and on. It looked as if no answer would ever satisfy this creep!
Once more, I dropped my “Evil Laura” persona and I gave him a full and honest real life reply, hoping that this would finally settle the matter. I told him yes, he was right in a way: I would do it. But not to bugs or ants or other animals. And if I grew, I also wouldn’t stomp towns, or destroy private property, or kill innocent people. In fact, of all existing animals, there was only one kind I would deliberately step on and feel good about it: the Giantess freak! If some perverted twerp dreams about a gigantic foot grinding his body to pulp, who am I to deny him that PLEASURE?
Oh boy. There he came again: “I can’t believe it! Would you really do it? If we ever meet and I’m a shrunken man, would you step on me? Would you be able to look me in the eye and kill me? You’re not that evil! I know you. You’re a girl with a computer, a modem and an imagination. You just couldn’t.”
What my cyber-slave didn’t know, however, neither he nor anyone else, was that I was not only capable of squishing tiny Giantess freaks but also that I had already done so several times.
It would be my pleasure to make sure he found that out.
II
If you’re reading this, my third Shrinking story, I’m assuming you have already read the other two — you’d better! Then, you know that early last year, 1997, when I practically lived on the #!!Giantess channel on Dalnet, I accidentally stumbled upon a weird combination of keyboard commands that transported anyone I was chatting with to my house. It would have been a cheap way to travel if it weren’t for two minor setbacks: one, that when my chat companions arrive here, they are usually no taller than 5 cm; and two, I have no idea how to send then back or how to restore them to their original size. In other words, a real one-way trip, if there was ever one.
At first, I was every bit as stunned as the tiny men popping out of nowhere on top of my table: I only had the advantage — a BIG advantage — of size. When I realized I had no way to send them back or to undo whatever I’d done to them, it became painfully obvious that they had to be disposed of. My second Shrinking story, Rites of Passage, tells the tale of one of the first men I killed and how weird it all was. But eventually I got the hang of it. Once my initial restraints were laid aside, I can honestly confess I had a ball. How the #!!Giantess channel survived I have no idea: I must have squished more than half of the guys who had ever been there. Sometimes I held real crush fests in my room: low grade at college? bad attitude from the boss? Nothing that half a dozen scared tiny men wouldn’t cure.
Ok, I know what you’re thinking: did I have no mercy? didn’t I feel pity for them? didn’t I feel guilty for all those deaths? etc. The answer is a flat no. For me, playing with them was like playing with my former boyfriend. On one hand, I felt evil and malignant, I knew I was purposely torturing him for my personal pleasure and this is a wonderful sensation. On the other hand, though, I also knew that I was giving him what he wanted the most — my feet — and that he was ecstatic about it.
Unimportant details aside, the same applies to my tiny men. Yes, I felt evil. And that’s a glorious feeling. I felt like I was so powerful I could take on the whole world, no one could resist me, no one could survive me: I was the ultimate ruler and I decided who lived and who died. Hmm, what a rush! Sometimes I orgasmed just by verbally teasing my future victims: the combination of my own evil words and their terrified expressions was enough for me. And the more evil I was — although many were quickly stomped, some died slow and painful deaths — the more sexy I felt, the more desirable I became. The fact that the slaves would say anything to survive, mostly praise of my evilness or my beauty, only increased my self-assurance. For as long as my “crush” phase lasted, in fact, I never went out on a date without first bringing in some tiny man to boost my morale: after having had ultimate power over a person’s life — and having used it to cruelly snuff that life out — it was a much more confident and happy Laura that walked out the door to meet her dates.
So, was I evil? Of course. Lady Macbeth would look like a nun compared to me. And I haven’t even described some of the slow deaths I sometimes inflicted on my slaves.
On the other hand, the example of my former boyfriend still applies: I was giving them, after all, what they wanted. They should have been happy. They should have been grateful. After I brought them in, I even reviewed their logs carefully and went to great lengths to please them. “So,” I would read out loud “your most cherished dream is to be impaled by a stiletto heel, huh?” and I would steal one of my sister’s pairs (I have none, I hate those things!) and, even worse, make the sacrifice of wearing it only to grant some total stranger his utmost sexual fantasy. How many women out there are granting men their deepest desires? As I said, they should have been grateful — especially this particular guy, because it took me forever to wipe him out off of the shoe...!
So, was I evil? No! I was nicer than most women I know! I was a fairy, a genie, granting wishes and asking nothing in return, delivering extreme happiness to people I didn’t even know. How could I feel bad or guilty? I felt good! I felt great!
Most tiny men would give me their best shots in the effort not to die, of course: you can’t blame them for trying to survive. Some would show me tiny pictures of their kids, others would promise to give me all their money upon safe return, but it was all moot: I knew there was no safe return for any of them. Once I was even tempted: this guy wanted to give me his credit card number so that I could buy anything I wanted on the net, or wire all his money to my bank account, but I declined. You see, we all have to draw our lines somewhere. As much as I needed the money, that would have been morally and ethically wrong. That man’s particular fantasy was to be popped like a grape between giant toes — a wish I delightfully granted, amidst his cries of “The money! The money!” — NOT to have his life savings cleared by an unscrupulous Giantess. Besides, his widow and kids would need the money more than I did. I already had the thrill of feeling him crunch, plus my clear conscience, and that was enough.
Eventually, however, even something as fun as this can lose its interest. After a few months, there was no one left I wanted to crush on #!!Giantess. I think my turning point was this one night when I was a bit depressed and in need of a tiny men to whisper me some words of praise and worship. To be treated like a Goddess, you know. Unfortunately, there was not a single jerk or impertinent dork available on the channel: the house was full but everyone there was my friend and most had gentle giantess fantasies. In my desperation, I almost brought any one of them (I was used that I was to just grabbing the man that I wanted) when it dawned on me that this was a really low point in my life.
From that day on, I left the channel never to come back again: I never even said good-bye so as not to flirt with temptation. And time went on, my dear reader. It’s been more than a year since I squashed my last tiny man and I had almost forgotten all about it. Now, on early May, 1998, I’ve been on a steady relationship with this guy, Ian, for almost a year and he has made me forget many things.
Nevertheless, thanks to him, I’m back in the Giantess community. I slowly introduced him to my fantasy, he embraced it, got enthusiastic about it, wrote a story featuring the infamous “Evil Laura”, talked me into putting up a web site to host our stories (stories that I would have to translate, of course) and, all in all, if it weren’t for him this page wouldn’t exist and you wouldn’t be reading this story.
I still keep my temptations in check, though, and I don’t intend to go back to mIRC or to #!!Giantess — as much as I like the place. But I’m still a fairy-genie and I have wishes to grant. In other words, there are still people out there dying to be stomped by an evil woman and I continue to be pleased to oblige them. Now, of course, there are two major differences: it’s all over e-mail instead of IRC and, secondly, it’s all pure, harmless role-play and no one gets actually squished.
That is, until now.
III
So what that I had promised never to do this again? Promises are made to be broken, right? C’mon! I’ve introduced you to this guy. You only had to read about one-hundredth of what he wrote and I bet he already annoys you as much as he annoys me. Besides, I had no idea if my “transportation” trick was going to work via e-mail. But I certainly wanted to try!
Guess what? It worked the first time around. When he replies, he always quotes my entire mail. So, I typed the right sequence of keyboard commands on the bottom of my last message to him and I waited. It was a long wait. I was checking my mail every ten seconds out of pure nervousness. Then, a college friend called me to brag about how hard our upcoming Economics exam would be. As I had no idea we were having an exam so soon, I simply freaked out and began to study right away. I completely forgot my slave and the lesson I was planning to teach him — right now, I needed some tutoring myself! It was only later that night, during one of my breaks, that I remembered to check the mail. I was a wreck already, my head seemed about to explode with so much Economics, but I wouldn’t give up my play. Who knows? It would probably even improve my mood!
There are always lots of new messages — my loyal slaves never leave me alone — and I had no way of knowing if one of them was from Mark Orion. Suddenly, though, as soon as his message had finished downloading and appeared on my screen, he popped out of thin air beside my keyboard.
“What... who... oh my...”
The poor thing was totally disoriented. Of course he didn’t know who I was — we’ve never met and I post no pics of mine on the web. I looked at him with surprise (that was easy, I REALLY WAS surprised) and asked:
“Oh my god! Who are you? What happened? You’re so tiny...”
“I... I... Oh my... What’s happened?!” he murmured.
My slave was a good looking thirty-something man, no shirt and very well defined muscles. Yes, this was definitely a body-builder. I wanted to giggle from pure delight, but I had to keep a serious face. These are my favorite victims. Don’t get me wrong, I like handsome men as much the next girl, but they have the most annoying tendency to be over-aware of this fact. All the handsome men I had ever dated always seemed to be paying more attention to themselves than to ME. A lesson in humility would suit him fine. Also, he would learn how pointless all those hours at the gym were: out there he might be strong, but in my lair... His muscles would be worthless even against my pinky toe!
“What’s the last thing you remember?” I asked, maintaining my serious face.
“Well, I was sending this e-mail to a friend” Yeah, right, friend my ass “and as soon as I clicked on ‘send’ I was transported to this sort of vacuum, a big black nothingness. I have no idea how long I was there! It might have been months! What day is today?”
“May 8th, 1998.”
He was totally stunned: “You mean I was in there for only a few hours? I sent that e-mail this afternoon! It seemed like an eternity in there! Oh my... I’m so glad to be out—
And then it dawned on him that he may have escaped the black nothingness but he was far from being out of the jam.
As for me, I was already feeling better. Of course the jerk didn’t come here directly, as when I used mIRC: his own e-mail pushed him into cyberspace and then to my service provider and he stayed in there — the black nothingness — until I downloaded my messages. I was actually glad for my Economics exam. If it hadn’t been for it, I would have checked my mail every five seconds and Mark Orion wouldn’t have gotten such a well-deserved punishment. To know that he had spent a few hours in a place where it felt like months was already enough to lift my spirits. The wretched fellow seemed drained and I hadn’t even begun to play yet... :)
With a distinct talent for the obvious, he finally shouted:
“Oh my god, you’re gigantic!”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Mark Orion. You look very thin yourself...”
He recognized my style:
“Laura?” he muttered.
“It’s Evil Laura to you. Or Queen Laura. Or Owner, Goddess. Not Laura!”
“Laura!” he stated.
“You never could obey instructions, could you?” I smiled at him.
“Where am I?”
“In my bedroom.”
“In Brazil.”
“Since that’s where I live, it seemed reasonable to have my bedroom here, yes.”
“What am I doing here?”
Why did he take so long? I had been waiting for him to ask that for hours! I lowered my head on the table so that our eyes were more or less on the same level and I moved my face next to him. If he didn’t know me better, he might have thought I was going to swallow him. But I just smiled my sweetest smile and breathed these sweet words onto him:
“You came here to die!” I love saying that! I must have already said this sentence, with slight variations, hundreds of times and it never fails to send a jolt of pleasure through my body.
It was an even greater thrill to see the look on his poor face as I pronounced his death sentence: “You can’t mean that. I mean... You wouldn’t, right, you—
His confusion was so cute: “Slave, nobody knows you’re here, nobody will ever know. You’ll never leave this room alive. Accept it and let’s move on.”
Mark Orion’s legs gave and he fell on his ass, desolated: “But... but... why?”
“Because you annoyed me. Because it will be fun. And, most of all,” Hmm, this is a classic too, and a personal favorite: “because I can!”
“That’s what you do to people who annoy you? You kill them?!”
I giggled and stroked him lightly in the hair: “Now, now, you have to admit it’s a fool-proof way to guarantee that they’ll never bug me again!”
Why did I ever stop doing this? What got into me? I must have been out of my mind! Having a tiny slave at my mercy like this is almost too good to be true. I had forgotten how delicious it was!
“I’m really sorry I bugged you, Laura, it’s—
I stomped my fist on the table right next to where he was standing: “Address me correctly!”
He fell down, stood up, stuttered and started again: “I’m sorry, my goddess. I never meant to bug you. I was just trying to keep the conversation going, it was all fantasy, role play, right?”
“If it had been up to me, yes, it would have been all role-play and fantasy, but no! Someone insisted on bringing “real life” into the picture! And then this someone proceeded to argue against every single thing I said. I’ll give you a taste of real life, all right, but bear in mind that, to you, the word “life” only means a couple of hours at most!”
“But it’s murder!”
“No, it isn’t.” I shrugged. “I like to think of it as pest control: if Giantess freaks keep proliferating without some sort of natural enemy, they might take over mankind... I’m your natural enemy! Also, genetic damage control: destroying you before you can spread your defective DNA around and spoil mankind’s genetic pool... Well, it can also be considered euthanasia or mercy killing, since you’re so stupid as to be clinically brain dead...”
[This story, by the late Evil Laura, has been republished to the Evil Women blog (http://mulheresmalvadas.blogspot.com), the new home of Laura's stories. Please refer/link back to us if you reproduce or talk about this story, and don't remove this disclaimer.]
He was stretched there on my table, with a distant and blank look on his face. I can bet he was seeing his whole life pass through his eyes: what a boring movie it must have been!
“But you know what I really like to call it? Generous and unselfish granting of desires. Think of me as your personal Giant genie. You had a wish to be stepped on and crushed to death by an evil, uncaring woman and I’ll make that come true. Aren’t you grateful? You know, not everyone has the chance to fulfill their deepest desires before dying... Don’t you remember what I wrote you? That the only kind of people I would ever step on FOR REAL were the Giantess freaks... You doubted me and I’ll now...” I bit my lips as if I regretted my next words: “I’ll have to prove it to you!”
Mark Orion now had let his head fall and he was trembling. I couldn’t believe it. The spineless jerk was crying on me!
“C’mon, slave.” I said, using my best motherly tone “Cheer up! I won’t do anything you wouldn’t like! For the past days, all you’ve been doing is telling me how you would love this, how this is your fondest dream...”
He looked up at me, his face all red, swollen and wet — what a disgusting sight! — and he began to shout. He was shouting at me! Can you believe that?
“You can’t do this! Who do you think you are? Send me back now, this is no joke, why did I ever want to browse the Internet for anyway?!”
I sat back in my chair to enjoy the show. That’s something you don’t see everyday: a man going totally hysterical. It’s not even common among tiny men either. They usually go into denial or they try to patronize and worship me in the hope of escaping or being spared. Only a few had ever flipped out so completely as Mark Orion was doing now. Most of his words were so garbled by his tears and sobbing — beside the fact that he was really being incoherent — that I couldn’t understand much, but it went more or less like this:
“You think you’re so cool, don’t you, oh my god, my stock, I should have sold them yesterday, no no no, it can’t be, this is a dream, I always knew this Giantess thing would get me into trouble, please please, I have a family, I have a business to run, don’t do that to me, you can’t do that to me, your witch...” It goes on and on. What a performance. I looked at my watch, Seinfeld was about to start but this was better. Much better.
I reclined myself even more in the chair and, as seductively as I could, I placed my barefeet on the table. He was such a foot freak that the mere sight of my giant toes might bring him back to his senses. Or so I thought. In one of his mails, he told me that he had been licking women’s feet all his life — how pathetic can that be? — and that he had dreams about a giant female foot he could spend days and days licking and never quite finish it. Well, there it was, right by his side.
He didn’t even blink at my feet! This is serious, I thought. Besides being as huge as he had fantasized them, my feet are also (according to some other foot freak experts I know) perfect and gorgeous. And tasty — YUCK! Anyway, Mark Orion, totally oblivious to my allure, was now pacing faster and faster, running in fact, gesticulating a lot, and I couldn’t make out a word of what he was saying, it was all garbled together in one long, meaningless grumble. In fact, he was beginning to dangerously approach the edge of the table and the last thing I wanted was for him to have an easy way out.
The bottom line was this: if he continued in such a frenzy, there would be no play, no talking, no nothing. What fun is there in teasing, mocking, feeding false hopes, torturing and killing a man who’s out of his mind? No way, José! He was my first tiny victim in more than a year and I wasn’t going to waste my opportunity for some cruel fun. I had to flip him out of it. Ok, Laura, time for a hope enhancement shock treatment. I put my feet down — they were greatly offended by being ignored by such a foot freak — and I approached him.
“Calm down! Do you hear me? Calm down!”
He interrupted his pacing for a second and I went on:
“I was kidding, ok? I’m sorry! I just wanted to tease you for a while, there’s no reason to be hysterical like that!”
Ok, now I had his attention. He had stopped still and he was looking at me:
“I’m offended, you know?! Who do you take me for? Some barbarian? A ruthless murderer? I would never have expected this from you! We’ve been mailing for weeks, it’s been fun! I know a lot about you, you’ve told me some of your most intimate secrets and desires. We’re pen-pals, we’re...” A dramatic pause here: “...FRIENDS! And you thought I would just kill you like that, in cold blood?!”
Bare-faced lying is almost second nature to me, I’m proud to say. Another specialty of mine are displays of outraged moral indignation while planning evil deeds — I learned that from TV preachers... And it never ceases to amaze me how fast people believe in what they want to hear — TV preachers know that trick too!
Slightly calmer, Mark Orion looked around for the first time:
“You have a very nice room. Lots of bookshelves and stuff.” Don’t judge a person by the book covers in her room, Mark... “You look like an intelligent, sensible person. You’re right...”
He was finally getting a sense of his surroundings, thinking with a clearer mind:
“In your mails, you’ve worshipped me and adored me so much that I thought it might be fun to bring you over, meet you face to face, and maybe, if I liked you and if you begged right, I’d allow you to lick my feet... But apparently you didn’t appreciate this...” I rehearsed a tear. Men can’t resist a girl’s tear. It wins every argument.
“No, Laura, no, please! It’s my fault!” He said, extending his arms to me. This time, in the interest of my long-term goal, I let him get away with the Laura “I didn’t want you to be hurt. It’s obvious you meant no harm! How could I ever consider you capable of stepping on a man as if he were a bug!”
Yeah, you’re not clairvoyant or anything, how could you have foreseen that?!
I smiled at him: “I don’t even step on bugs.” And that was totally true!
He nodded and giggled too: “I know, I know. I remember it now when you said that. It was just plain stupid of me... I’m so sorry! But... seriously now, how did you do it!?”
I could have told him. Why not? He wasn’t going to tell anyone anything else ever again, that’s for sure. But then I had a flash of all my childhood role models, from Catwoman to a number of 007’s bad girls, and I said to myself: why risk it? I’m a post-modern villainess: I don’t like risks. I’m doing this for my own personal fun: I don’t care about honor or fair play and he’s certainly not supposed to have even a fighting chance of survival. All he’s supposed to do is to die whenever it amuses me the most. Period.
So, I gave him a sly look and a grin: “It’s a secret, dear. I can’t tell you! This might be a terrible weapon if it falls on the wrong hands!” And I wriggled my fingers at him. If only he knew that the weapon had already fallen into the worst possible hands...
“And how will you send me back?”
“The same way you came. After we’ve played for a while...”
“Laura, I give you my most solemn word I’ll never tell anyone about this, I’ll defend this secret with my life and—
And I exploded in a fit of laughter, I just couldn’t hold it. His puny nobility was so ridiculous! Not to mention unnecessary, of course. I had to give him an explanation, though:
“I’m sorry, darling. You don’t have to promise me anything. I can’t give you any details, but it’s like this: I’ve brought you here through a place we might call, let’s see, the third dimension. Your real body stays there and a part of your consciousness is transported here and given form. Whatever happens here or whatever you learn here will not affect your body lying on the third dimension. So, when I send you back, you’ll have no knowledge whatsoever of anything that’s happened in the meantime.”
“Pretty interesting concept...” He mused.
If you’re curious about how could I come up with such a load of crap so fast, let me tell you that the speech was already on the tip of my tongue. It wasn’t the first time I had to give false assurances to over-frightened slaves.
“Does that apply to my physical body too, as well as to my mind?”
Giantess freaks are all alike. They all ask that. They all have the same thing on their minds.
“Oh yeah!” I replied, sounding emphatic “I found that out the worst possible way. One of my slaves — perhaps you know him, Bugseye — was playing with my toes and I accidentally applied too much pressure...”
“You killed him?”
“Hey, it was an accident!” Moral outrage here we go! “Tiny men are SO very fragile, I’ve learned that by now. I just wriggled one toe a little and he just cracked. It was terrible. I was crushed.” Ok, we’re both crushed! “But then it occurred to me that his body might not be affected too and I sent him back anyway. Next thing I knew he was e-mailing me. It was the greatest relief of my life!”
“Well, let’s not try that, shall we?”
“Of course not! Why take chances?” That’s my motto, right, guys? :)
Now it was time for the second Giantess freak predictable question:
“So you’ve brought other people here?”
“Yeah, sure! Almost everyone on #!!Giantess, back when I used to hang around there, has already dropped by. Of course, no one remembers it, but I do... It’s great!”
“You must have funny stories about them, how they behave, etc...”
I grinned widely at him: “I’ll tell you ALL about it, don’t worry!” It might frighten you a little, but I can tell! No problem here!
And then it came: the third Giantess freak more or less predictable question. I say “more or less” because some of the dumber ones miss this point entirely:
“But if I’m not going to remember anyway, why don’t you tell me how does this device of yours works? I’m curious.”
I leveled my eyes with his again. He was calm now and I was getting awfully tired of all this “nice girl” talk. I’m really not cut out to be a nice girl. I can only stand it for so long and then... boom! My good old nature resurfaces. But I made an effort:
“Very simple. As I said before, why take chances? I still don’t understand fully how this thing works. What if you come back with your memories? Right now, all you’ll have is an extraordinary — not to mention ridiculous — tale of being shrunk and transported. But if I tell you how to do it, who knows what might happen? So far I must have brought hundreds of people here, and no one remembered, but I don’t feel like taking the chance... What if one remembered and just didn’t tell me?” I pointed a wriggly finger at him: “You never know!”
He sat down again, this time calmly, and let this head rest on my keyboard. He was making himself at home!
“I understand it, Laura, no problem.”
Dealing with my slaves, besides being so naughty and fun, is also a study on human nature. You see, Mark Orion was faced with two possibilities:
1)All the crap about third dimension and not remembering blah blah blah, or
2) The fact that he had just been both shrunk and transported over two continents via the Internet and that now he was on the room of a total stranger in a far away land, not to mention the fact that this stranger had a bad reputation and had already said she would kill you...
Well, it’s amazing how fast people choose to believe option number one! Hope is an amazing thing. I purposely tried to make my story as senseless as possible, but to no avail: they insist in believing it and they believe in it FAST. What a bunch of morons! What else can you expect from guys who enjoy to grovel in the floor and to lick dirt from smelly toes — and whose sexual fantasy is, to put it in simple words, die? Let’s face it, they deserve whatever it is I do to them. And I’m very creative!
Now, though, the fucker was TOO relaxed, all spread out on my table, reclining on my keyboard... But there’s a cure for that:
“Call me Evil Laura, please. Or Goddess of Perversity... You know how I enjoy being praised for my evilness...”
Mark Orion gave me a sideways smile: “Still with the role play, huh?”
I propped my feet on top of the desk again. Let’s see if now he pays attention: “Sure, why not, as long as we’re here...”
Wow, what a reaction! One of the fastest head turns I had ever seen. My feet were not particularly smelly that night — I had been going barefoot all day — but I’m sure that to Mark Orion’s tiny nostrils, any slight smell would have been overwhelming.
“You know, Laura... I mean, my Goddess...” He gasped, walking towards my feet and never taking his eyes off them. “In the middle of all this mess, I hadn’t noticed how gorgeous you are...”
It’s makes no difference. This is always annoying whether the man is gawking at your breasts or at your feet:
“You mean I’m gorgeous or are my feet gorgeous?”
He realized his goof and turned his gaze to my eyes. Then, he gasped again. It looked like he was actually seeing me for the first time:
“My god, you’re gorgeous! You...” His eyes traveled down my huge body “What is a woman like you doing at home on a Friday night such as today?”
Only then did I remember it:
“My exam!” I exclaimed “I was studying for my Economics exam when your mail — and you — came!”
“E-exam?” he stuttered.
“Boy, am I in trouble! I’ve got to have all this crammed into my head by Monday morning!”
[This story, by the late Evil Laura, has been republished to the Evil Women blog (http://mulheresmalvadas.blogspot.com), the new home of Laura's stories. Please refer/link back to us if you reproduce or talk about this story, and don't remove this disclaimer.]
Instinctively, I jumped from my chair and moved towards my bed, where my books were:
“Wait!” He shouted, in almost desperation “Weren’t we going to play a little?”
He looked just like... Hmm, let’s use a realistic metaphor here: he looked like a foot freak denied toes! I knew that look well. I used to do that for kicks with my former boyfriend all the time.
“I’m SO sorry, dear! Today was the worst possible day — this whole weekend in fact!”
“I majored in Economics.” He tried.
“Yeah, yeah.” Like I’d fall for THAT!
“No, really. I mean that. Maybe I can help you out.”
“I doubt it. My exam and my books are in Portuguese. We’re in Brazil, remember? How much do you know about Brazilian economic policies of the last three decades?”
“Weeeeell...” He looked positively crushed. How could he argue with that? “I was looking forward to hear some stories about what the other guys did when they came here...”
There are lots of stories, dear, and I’d love to gloat over how I disposed of each and every single one of them, but I doubt if we’re talking about the same guys: after all, the ones in my stories never came back.
“Not now. Later, ok?” I was pacing to and fro in the room, collecting my material to begin studying again.
Mark Orion was still not letting go. He was good at not letting go: “There was so much I wanted to share with you. We never had a chance to talk personal on our mails. Aren’t you a kind of a writer? Maybe you’d be interested to know that I—
Man, I couldn’t be LESS interested if I tried:
“Not now.” I repeated, firmly. “This is serious. I have a nearly perfect... hmm... our Brazilian equivalent of GPA. Anyway, it’s on a scale of 1 through 10 and this damn Economics is threatening to bring it down by almost a full point!”
Then he said something which I would have seen coming if I weren’t so concerned about my exam:
“Ok, whatever.” He shrugged “If we aren’t going to do anything, just take me back and I’ll leave you to your study.”
Laura, stop! Time to rethink the situation. Should I kill him now? No, too messy, I’d have to clean it up and I wouldn’t have the time. But the time problem would be the same tomorrow and the day after tomorrow, I considered. Should I keep him around until after the exams? Hmm, most definitely no. A weekend was too long to have a tiny man walking around my room. Some friends might want to come over to study together, I might want to go to a friend’s house, there was the maid and the dog... Besides, I could bet he wouldn’t stop trying to make conversation and I’d never be able to concentrate properly.
There was another good point here: as long as he was still alive, I would keep fantasizing about ways to kill him. How could I study Economics if every five seconds my mind went off-track to wander if I should crush him under my soles or between my toes?
Better get it over it now. But doing it fast is never fun...
He was still smiling at me as I motioned to him:
“Well, it was great being here with you. Hope I can come back again when you’re free...”
Yeah, fat chance. Ok, this was it. Grab him, throw him on the wastepaper basket, crush him with my fist:
“You know, Mark O—
This was going to be my “you’ve been duped, it’s time to die” speech, but he naively interrupted me:
“What’s your exam about?”
I told him the details, why not?
“Isn’t that a wonderful coincidence? That’s my area of specialty. I did my honor thesis on this one!”
A pathetic muscle-brained foot-licking Giantess-freak worm like that had done an honor thesis?! Still, he said it so naively I believed him. Besides, I REALLY needed help.
“Your English is great, Laura. Language wouldn’t be a problem...”
How bad could it be? If it was true, he would be one hell of a help. If it wasn’t... Well, I was going to squish him either way, wasn’t I?
“Ok, Mark Orion. You win. I’ll be in bed, I have a lot of ground to cover. And you... Well, you can play around with my feet, I know you love this. It might even be relaxing to study while you lick my soles, and if I need help, I’ll call you.”
Then, the idea of having a man in bed with me made me remember another thing that had slipped my mind ever since the arrival of my guest: Ian! He knew my Shrink stories were real and he also knew I had stopped doing that. As fantasy, he liked evil giantesses fine but how would he react if he knew I had resumed my old, murderous habits? My heart sank a little: would he consider me a monster just because I was crushing people to death?
Wait there, Laura. He had accepted fine all the other men you had killed, all those hundreds, why would he react negatively with this one? Well, for one, I told myself, I had promised I would never do that again, and I had also said that fantasizing with him in bed already satisfied all my wildest Giantess fantasies better than any real tiny slave — men love to hear that kind of crap! Maybe his morality would revolt but, more likely, his male ego would be the one revolting: “So, fantasizing with me isn’t enough anymore, Laura?” Oh boy. Still on his male ego problem, for almost a year now Ian was the only one who shared a bed with me and licked my feet, — along with my entire body, for that matter. “Vanilla” people may not see a problem in this, but you foot freaks reading this know how sexually significant foot worship can be. It borders on adultery, especially with foot freaks as my slaves! Ian might not take too well my only line of defense: “But dear, I was going to kill him anyway...”
Bottom line was: Ian didn’t really have to know, did he?
As I grabbed Mark Orion from my table, another thought occurred to me: if Ian’s morality didn’t intervene — and it had a very low, weak voice — probably watching me squish a tiny man would be the greatest turn-on of his entire life. I really loved Ian: didn’t I owe it to the guy to invite him to watch my crush fest?
Anyway, I wasn’t going to squish Mark Orion so soon. I didn’t have to decide now. When time came, we’d see... :)
On my palm, Mark Orion was still staring at me, enthralled by my beauty, a silly smile on his lips. He thought he was being shipped back home and now he was all happy that I had given him a chance to lick my feet. What a loser! Good for him he couldn’t read my thoughts. Somehow his happiness made it all more delicious...
“Get ready, little man. It’s going to be a long night! I have a huge book to read!”
And the shot back at me his ‘I’m-so-happy-to-be-here-with-you’ smile:
“I also have two huge soles to lick. The longer the night, the better!”
IV
I was SO happy! Laura really was stunningly beautiful, more than I had hoped for as I exchanged mail with her. Probably a fat freckled geek, I had thought, but who cares? Her mails had made me jerk off more than anything else I had ever read and I would never have to meet her anyway!
How could I have been so wrong? She was gorgeous! Not like a super-model, as her boyfriend wrote in one of the stories, but a truly beautiful women fully aware of her power over men. Even the way she paced her room collecting her notes — she couldn’t have been thinking about how she looked at the time — was sexy and elegant, alluring.
And her feet... Wow! I had stared too much at them at first, but now I would have them all to myself as she studied. How I envied her former boyfriend! For a foot fetishist to date such a woman is a blessing from the skies. And now those feet would be mine for the night... :)
She was smart, but that I already knew. There were books all over, she was articulated... I remember her smile and the way she looked at me as we talked. Her expression was always so sweet, from when she said she was going to kill me (ha, ha, and I believed it!) to the time she explained the situation in her most calm, well-reasoned manner.
I felt ashamed to have deceived such a woman. She had welcomed me in the intimacy of her bedroom, we’d had been pen-pals for weeks... I felt like a traitor. But what else could I have done? She was going to send me back! I couldn’t go home to jerk off alone in my bathroom (and hiding from my wife) after having stood only inches... excuse me, centimeters away from those godly feet! I’d have said anything! Hopefully she’ll forgive me — if she finds out, that is.
After all, I did take that Economics 101 in college (a C minus, but who’s counting?) and she herself admitted she understands nothing of Economics. With luck, I can talk my way out of this.
Laura lied on her bed, among dozens of open books, and she put me down by her side. Only then I realized the full weirdness of the situation: here was I, a handsome man at the peak of his physical shape and virility, on bed with a gorgeous 24 year-old foreign woman, quick witted and with the most perfect feet ever. And yet, we weren’t going to have sex.
Maybe that’s what proves I’m such an incurable Giantess foot fetishist. I would much rather be here as a tiny plaything than as, how shall I put it, a real man. I’ve had plenty of good “real man” sex with gorgeous women. That’s common-place. But Laura was special: she wasn’t only gorgeous, she had a Giantess fantasy just as I had and she loved to have her feet worshipped as much as I loved worshipping them.
No, I’d rather be tiny and know that this wall of flesh over there that she calls her sole, standing several centimeters above my head, was all mine to lick and kiss and rub myself against. After having worshipped the feet of so many women, that was exactly what I had always wanted: a foot so huge I could lick it for days and never quite lick it completely. This was definitely much better than entering that room as an ordinary man to have sex with Laura — as gorgeous as she and her feet were at any size.
“Well,” she addressed me “these are the rules. I’ll try to concentrate here. If I need your help, I’ll call you. If not, you just keep on doing whatever it is you’re doing.”
“And that would be...” I wanted her to say it.
But she didn’t even smile: “Whatever.” She shrugged “Play with my feet if you like it so much. What do I care? Your tongue is so tiny I probably won’t feel a thing but it might even help me to relax. Just don’t do anything to break my concentration. That means, if you didn’t understand it, DON’T TALK!”
“I understand it. I’ll get you really relaxed, you see. There are several nerve endings on the sole of the foot. If you only know how—
“You have any idea how many times I have heard that lame foot freak crap-of-an-excuse to get to a woman’s foot? Just do it and spare me the theatrics!”
Even when she was nice, Laura was still aggressive. I love that in a woman. Maybe too much, for her next move was to point at my groin and say:
“One important reminder: that hard little thing over there stays where it is and it’s not to be touched. You’re in a lady’s bedroom and I’ll not tolerate such liberties! Of course I can’t stop it from getting hard, it’s only natural... and should I say unavoidable?” And she gave me a wicked smile as she pointed to her body with her eyes “But don’t forget that I have a boyfriend, I love him and I’m very loyal to him. You’re the first man I get in bed with ever since I started seeing Ian and that just because” This time it was the naughty grin “of you peculiar situation. Don’t push it.”
“You didn’t even have to say it, Laura. Of course, I’d never—
“Yeah yeah, ‘you’d never’. Man’s crap. Whatever what you wouldn’t. Just don’t. If I see you touching yourself or, god help you, jerking off on my bed, maybe, just maybe, I’ll be upset. You wouldn’t like it.”
Well, no big deal. I was about to have the most wonderful experience ever and I would have the rest of my life to fondly remember it. I could control myself for some hours. I hope.
“Now go.” She pointed at her feet “Your objects of desire are waay over there. It’s a good walk, especially with all the wrinkles on the bed. Start moving now or I’ll be finished here before you reach it. I won’t carry you.”
And that was that. I began my long walk along her perfect body. All she was wearing was a white t-shirt and some shorts. From where I was, I could see her breasts at a distance, like two enormous mountains one is dying to climb just because... you know, just because they are there! She must have read my mind, for she said:
[This story, by the late Evil Laura, has been republished to the Evil Women blog (http://mulheresmalvadas.blogspot.com), the new home of Laura's stories. Please refer/link back to us if you reproduce or talk about this story, and don't remove this disclaimer.]
“Oh, one last thing: touch me above the ankle and you’re a dead man.”
Just a figure of speech, of course, but I got the picture. With so many distractions along the way, this would be a lengthy walk. Forget about unreachable things, Mark! and focus on what you CAN do, I told myself. She would never let me climb her breasts anyway, what’s the point in staring? Besides, I’d take her feet over her breasts any day of the week. I only had to get there...
The walk itself was something to remember. From a distance, her feet seemed smaller, like regular feet, the size of the feet of so many women I’ve had in my life. As I approached them, however, they grew and grew in front of my very eyes. It was like magic: to watch normal sized feet — or what looked like normal sized feet when viewed from very far away — slowly turn into Giantess’ feet, huge, enormous, with the potential to do all the evil and cruel things Laura had described to me in her mails.
She was right that my hard-on was unavoidable. Giantess and foot lovers may be freaks, but, in my opinion, freak is any man who would not be aroused by that sight!
I walked past her belly, her waist, her hips, her thighs... Oh, her legs... They seemed endless... My goal, at their end, unreachable... And so pretty!
Don’t ask me how long I walked (I was going to put my wrist watch on as soon as I had sent Laura her e-mail) but it felt like forever! Finally, I got to her anklet — just as she had described it on her site, a string of sea-shells linked to one another. I was Moses in the Promised Land — was it Moses who got to the Promised Land? I always get these things confused! Anyway, you get my point! The anklet was the border: from there on, I was in my turf and I could do whatever I wanted!
There’s no way to describe what it is like to stand in front of such a wall of foot sole. It was overwhelming. Her foot was resting on its heel and I had to tilt my head to the extreme to be able to see her wriggling toes all the way up there, as unreachable as the clouds in the sky.
And the smell! It was the most natural kind of foot odor possible. Not the one you get from walking all days in closed shoes, because that’s foot odor combined with whatever smell the shoe’s fabric has. No, this was the real thing. Untarnished. The foot smell of someone who had gone barefoot all day, walking inside a clear house. No other scents to corrupt it: just pure foot aroma!
It was also visibly clear that she had walked barefoot all day indoors. Her feet weren’t as clean as they would be if she had worn slippers. Neither were they as filthy as if she had walked barefoot outdoors. What gave it away were just some small specks of house dirt here or there, particles of dust and etc.
She hadn’t lied when she said she walked barefoot a lot. I’m an expert on female feet, I can tell those things. Her soles were thick and yellowish — Laura would certainly he hard to tickle. I hoped she would be able to feel the strokes of my tongue through those thick soles of her.
I began to work at once — that is, if one can call having such super-human pleasure "work!" No, I won’t try to describe how her sole tasted. Why bother? You wouldn’t understand. You weren’t there...
Every wrinkle, every fold was almost as big as me. Her big toe was my height, but bulkier — and sexier, of course! She moved her feet around a lot and she kept changing positions: the toes at first out of my reach were soon being licked too. I had access to her whole two feet. It was deliriously good.
I remember once, when traveling on the great plains east of Mirkwood, an old guide showed me Mount Erebor out there in the distance and asked me to guess how far away it was. The mountain seemed so small that I guessed an outrageously high number and, in spite of that, Mount Erebor was still three times further than I had thought. I had no idea anything could be seen from such a distance, I said. Yes, replied the guide, but the mountain is so enormous that if it were as close as you had guessed, it would seem so huge it would loom over you. If something that big looks small, it’s because it’s half a world away.
And there was Laura. She seemed totally unaware of me, so concentrated on trying to figure out Economics that she forgot she had a tiny slave tending her feet. Her lovely features were frowning and one could easily tell she was engaged in intense thinking. Laura was a determined woman: she had decided she would learn this and she would, tiny slave licking her feet or not. She looked as far away as Erebor had looked that day and I knew she was huge too — I couldn’t believe I had walked all that distance! If it weren’t for the two gold mines at each end of her slender legs, I don’t think I would have ever made it.
The movement of her toes reminded me of her site. It was also true what she had said about the so-called “Andalusian Spree” her former boyfriend loved. She was certainly not doing it for me. Suddenly, her foot would contract and, in a rapid movement, she would flex her toes violently, the big one sprinting as upwards as it would go while the others went the opposite way. Then, in a second, it was over. She kept doing this all night, in some odd patterns — maybe related to the intensiveness of her thinking? Sometimes she would do it once and they lay still for minutes. Or she would do it three or four times in quick sequence and then allow her toes to rest again. It looked like some kind of an unconscious reflex. Anyway, it had its charm.
As pretty as it looks, though, I wouldn’t want to be caught between her big toe and the next one as they came rushing to meet one another. The movement was too sudden and fast: one could be cut in half if caught in there. I relished that thought. Up until now, I had been so overwhelmed by that massive amount of gorgeous feet that I had forgotten what they could, and — let’s play, shall we? — what they had already done.
Next time she rested her foot down sideways and her toes came within my reach, I went there cautiously to lick the soft, tasty area between the toes. Was it here, I began to wonder, that little Pete had met his doom? How could such beautiful feet — how could such a beautiful woman! — do something so vicious and evil? Pete was just a boy, with his whole life ahead of him, he had trusted Laura, in a way he had even loved her and, in spite of all that, and only to prove a point and to satisfy her wicked desires, she had squished Pete to death right here — yeah, I had already decided it had been on this foot. I began to lick the spot frantically: here, a boy was killed by an uncaring evil giantess. Right here. She had laughed about it, she was happy about doing it, she felt proud and sexy! She said it felt GOOD! Not a thought for Pete, and his love, and the life he would never have... Such evil toes... How many more people had died here?
And the more I thought about Laura’s evil deeds, her stories, her mails to me, the more frantically I licked and — weirdly enough — the better her toes tasted. I wasn’t just licking a giant foot anymore, I was licking a giant evil foot... Oh, now that I had met her, I could picture it all. I could picture little Pete trapped between those toes, I could picture that huge foot following an skier down a hill, I could even see myself lying on the floor, waiting for a huge sole to fall over me, as I had dreamed so many times...
How would it be, I wondered, to really die squashed by Laura’s feet? I suddenly came back to my original question: would she do it in real life? There were certainly worse deaths, of course, and she did have the most delicious feet...
But I dismissed those thoughts from my mind. She was my hostess and she had proven herself intelligent, beautiful, civilized. We all have our fantasies. Laura was too kind and understanding to be capable of that. I was in no danger whatsoever. “Evil Laura”, as she herself said in her site, was a “persona” she wore on the Internet to steam off pressure and stress. The real Laura was in the bed with me, 24, single, still living in her parents’ house, attending college with exceptional grades (nearly perfect GPA, she had said) and now cramming for an Economics exam.
I was being silly to even conceive such a thing and it was the exam that finally convinced me. What murderer would study Economics while planning to kill someone — and have this someone lick her feet while she studied?
Oh boy, this smell and this taste will be lost forever, but I wish I had a camera to take some pictures of those perfect feet...
Suddenly, the telephone rang and Laura answered. I stepped away from her foot for a while to have a better view of her body and she saw me too, our eyes met. The sincere and cute smile that bloomed on her lips as she saw me was enough to touch my heart. No woman can look at a man and smile like that and not love him!
I didn’t hold her attention for long, though. Apparently, it was a classmate in distress, for Laura consulted her notes and flipped through her books frantically and then she took some notes of her own. All in all, she looked very concerned.
The talking, obviously, went on in Portuguese and I was already back at her colossal soles when I heard English being spoken:
“Claudia, remember when you asked me to help you with your conversational English? Do you mind if we do it now, talk in English for a while? Yeah, just to get our minds off this damn thing for a second or two. Oh, it’s nothing, really. I saw this funny scene in a movie and I wanted to tell you about it. It goes like this: a girl comes into her room and she finds a tiny man scurrying... yeah, that means running... running on the floor. Guess what she does?”
Oh my... I listened to her words and I glanced at her sole and I began to lick more feverishly than ever! She’s doing this just for me! Of course she wants me to listen. I felt that if I didn’t jerk off soon, I’d explode. But now I couldn’t even dream about it: as she talked and giggled on the phone, Laura’s eyes were dead fixed on me:
“No, she’s not frightened. She knows it’s only a stupid man that’s been shrunken, he can’t harm her in any possible way. Well, ok, YOU would be frightened, but then, after that, what would you do with him? All right, never mind. Try to guess what she did in the movie? No. No. No. Forget it. She teased him, she threatened to step on him, she said he would die, these sort of things. And then she actually did step on him. It was SO funny!”
Her evil, mocking laugher boomed across the room and I couldn’t get my mind off the fantasy: how many men had died to the sound of this delicious laughter? To how many people was this joyous, wicked laughter the last thing they had ever heard? She’s very sexy when she laughs and, in all her excitement, she was wriggling her toes even more. And then, she gave me a naughty wink. I don’t deserve her. On top of all that, her gigantic feet tasted so good!
“She even took her shoes off before doing it because she said she wanted to feel him crunch under her soles. Isn’t it cool?”
My Goddess Laura, I can picture this so much, yes I can: you stepping on a tiny man and even going through the trouble of doing it barefoot! That’s how evil you are. Stepping on him isn’t enough! You have to feel him die! With those same feet I’m licking. They keep tasting better and better!
“Yes, I know. I’m not saying I would have done it. Yes, I remember that day on Paula’s house I was the only one who refused to step on the bug. I don’t like doing this sort of thing. But this was not real life, dummy, this was a movie, this was fantasy. And I liked it, I laughed my guts out. Why did she do it? Because she could. She said she was bigger and stronger and that it would be fun to feel how he crunched.”
You can, Laura. With these soles I’m licking, you could squish me anytime. I know you won’t, it’s all fantasy as you pointed out, but you could and that turns me on so much you have no idea! I’m licking more and more feverishly, it’s like making love, only better, much better!
“No, it wasn’as cruel as I’m making it sound. The guy liked it! How come? How should I know? There are all sorts of creeps around. This one liked the idea of being stepped on. Remember H.? He used to beg for me to step on him. Yeah, you know, I’ve told you about him. Yeah, of course, he never died, but then he wasn’t tiny...”
How can someone not like it? How can someone look at those soles and not long to have them pressed against his body?
“Oh, I don’t remember the title. It was just a scene, really. Some sort of science fiction movie, astronauts on a planet of giants, and this astronaut apparently got himself into the wrong room... Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I find this idea of stepping on a tiny man very amusing! Yeah, it must have been because of H. And no, I won’t step on the bug next time either! I don’t do ‘stepping’!”
She made it sound like she was saying I don’t do drugs or I don’t smoke.
“Yeah, that’s why I thought it was so amusing. The idea that a girl would step on a grown man! Ok, I know. Let’s get back to work, shall we? See you! Bye!”
She hung up, her eyes still on me, and she gave me a thumbs up, followed by a smile. Then, I came in my pants, my tongue practically dry. I have no saliva left, but it had been well spent...
Laura’s index finger went up and she motioned me to come. Time to teach Economics. Good bye, dear soles, I think as I walk by, I’ll never forget you.
V
Our ability to forget is amazing. Even the best things may eventually fade from memory. To have a normal man service my feet is great, of course, but after a year with Ian I had forgotten how a tiny tongue could be satisfying too. Those tiny strokes are so light, so smooth you can barely feel them but they’re still there all the same. Very subtle, very relaxing.
That’s not the best, though. What I like the most is to think that this is a doomed tiny tongue. It sends a thrill through my body to imagine that this little man having so much pleasure servicing my feet will be no more in a few hours. He’s pleasing me, tendering my soles, helping me to relax as I study for an important exam. And how will I repay his kindness and his love? With death — hmm... What a delicious thought, how I love to feel I’m being as evil as I can be!
Tomorrow, I muse, I can feel all this pleasure again: all I have to do is bring another tiny man home. But he... The doomed slave will never feel the pleasure of licking my feet again. He’ll never feel any of the pleasures of life. I look at him with a smile on my face and I see a man who loves me and worships me but I also see a man who will never have a nice meal again, or go to the movies, or kiss a girl — or have sex! He’s enjoying his last pleasures in this earth and he’s not even aware of that...
And he won’t just die, of course: he’ll be killed by his own very objects of desire. That’s my favorite irony. I wonder which of those feet he’s licking will be the one to strike the fatal blow... My sole will still have his saliva on it as it covers him... Once more, I look at him happily servicing my toes and what I see is a man cleaning and loading the weapons of his own firing squad, building his own scaffold. And I cherish that thought, I play with it inside my head, and I get hotter and hotter...
Oh boy, I should really do this more often! Sometimes I even ask myself why is it that I like being bad so much, but it doesn’t matter, does it? My former boyfriend used to wonder why he was so fixated onto feet until he finally gave up. It was a pointless question. You have to know yourself, seek out what you like and be happy. So, who cares why I am this way? I enjoy being myself, I enjoy being evil and I enjoy crushing tiny men. And that should be more than enough, isn’t it? :) Of course, because of my peculiar likes and dislikes hundreds of people have died but that only makes it all even more delightful...
Snap out of it, Laura! This is exactly what I feared. My slave was relaxing me all right, but I just couldn’t concentrate: I kept daydreaming about how he would meet his doom and about how amusing this whole situation was. Forget it, I said. Focus on the material. Think about it. Formulate some questions he might help me answer. Use his knowledge — if he had such a thing — as much as I could. Then, when he outlived his usefulness... Well, then it would be time to daydream again...
It worked. I was so focused I even forgot about him. The strokes of his tongue were so light and regular that you only have to get used to them and they would fade away. It seemed like hours later when my friend Claudia called and I both snapped out of my Economics coma and also noticed that I had a man in bed with me.
I couldn’t keep him in my mind much longer, for Claudia had some very pertinent questions, most of which we managed to answer by ourselves, some of which were still left unanswered when she hung up the phone. But all this time, as I flipped through my notes and talked to her, I could see with the corner of my eyes that my tiny slave was still at my feet, admiring his own soon-to-be murderess with awe on his face.
He deserved some reward. As soon as I finished with Claudia, I switched to English and put up a little show for him. It seemed to be working, for as I talked, he licked my feet more and more feverishly. Even so, his strokes were so light it was pathetic.
Finally, I decided enough was enough. After all, shouldn’t free access to my gigantic feet be more than enough reward for all good deeds this creep might have done in his entire life? So, I “hung up” with Claudia and resumed with Economics. And it occurred to me I still hadn’t used him. Maybe he could answer some of our mutual doubts.
Enough of this reward too. If he did good, he might lick my feet again. Right now, I wanted him close to my ears where I could listen to what he might have to say. Poor Mike Orion just stared at my feet in a longing way and started to walk in my direction, but I couldn’t wait. I picked him up between my fingers and brought him to me.
I won’t bore you with Economics. I know I DON’T want to hear about it. It suffices to say that it took me about three seconds to find out that if Mark Orion had ever graduated from College at all, it had been on Physical Education. See if you get my reasoning: I wasn’t pissed at him for having lied to me. How could I blame him?
I know very well the power my feet have over foot fetishists, I know the power my gigantic body has over Giantess freaks and, obviously, I know the power I have over any men at all! The poor groveling foot-licking loser just couldn’t have gone home — or so he thought — without giving a last, desperate try to touch my soles with his tongue. I can even sympathize with that. I’ve seen it happen several times. What really pissed me were two other things:
First, that I had been so desperate because of my exam that I actually BELIEVED him!! Gosh, I know those Giantess perverts, they all have mush for brains: had I really become so stupid ever since I last had a tiny man in here, over a year ago?! I knew for a fact that he would try something and that — his statement that he had majored in Economics — was obviously it! In short: I had anticipated it, I was expecting it, I saw it coming and, when it came, I fell for it! Who knows, if I keep on getting dumber like this, one of these days one of my tiny men might even manage to trick me for real! You have no idea how angry I was with myself! Someone had to pay for this and... well, I couldn’t squish myself, could I?
My second source of irritation was Mark Orion’s own stupidity. Hey, c’mon, if you’re trying a desperate last stand, at least do it right all the way. I’m the first one to admit I’m very smart, but I know squat about Economics. Anyone with half a brain would have bull-shitted me on this one. One only had to try: use some of those economists’ mambo-jambo we hear about on TV, utter long meaningless words in long meaningless sentences, improvise! I would have caught him eventually, of course, but not in three seconds. And I’d have forgiven him: I’m a good sport, I knew that all he was doing he was doing so that he could spend more time with me and, also, I’ll always respect someone who can bull-shit me — such people are VERY rare, believe me! I’d still have cruelly squished him, of course, but I’d have forgiven him first and he would have died an honorable man, a man I respected. What I couldn’t forgive was the fact that he didn’t even try. You see, he didn’t even have HALF a brain: he couldn’t have talked a monkey into eating a banana if his life depended on it! And it did! Oh yes, it did!
[This story, by the late Evil Laura, has been republished to the Evil Women blog (http://mulheresmalvadas.blogspot.com), the new home of Laura's stories. Please refer/link back to us if you reproduce or talk about this story, and don't remove this disclaimer.]
“Gosh, Laura, please don’t take it the wrong way! I’d really do anything I could to help you out but I don’t know anything about Economics also... All I wanted was to spend some more time with you and—
“Shut up.”
Squish him now, I thought? I don’t like to kill slaves when I’m mad: I don’t enjoy it as much as I could and they usually die too fast. But I wanted to do it, I really did! He began to speak again and my hand was closing around him, I didn’t want to listen to that moron anymore, and my mom saved the day:
“Laura!!” She boomed as she knocked on my door. She has the most annoying, strong knock: I always feel like she’s trying to break into my room. Obviously, my door was locked. “Have you walked the dog already?”
Oh my, and it keeps piling up! Now this!
“No, mom, sorry, I’d totally forgotten about it, there’s this exam and—
“Laura, you know it’s your turn to walk the dog! And you also know I hate to talk through this door! Open it!
I may still live with my parents — it’s a great way to save money! — but at 24 my room is like an embassy: foreign territory answerable only to me.
“I can’t open it right now. I’ll walk the dog!”
She didn’t say anything else. Ok, there it was, one other thing to piss me off. I hate walking the dog. But at least it had gotten my mind away from murderous thoughts towards my slave. Oh yes, he deserved to suffer a little. And I had something in mind I was just dying to try — and that he might die trying... :)
I leapt from my bed: “Don’t go anywhere. The fall might kill you and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
“But Laura—
“Just shut up.”
From my closet — yes, I have a closet! cool, isn’t it? — I selected one of my oldest, most worn strap sandals. As soon as I came out of the closet (no pun intended) the slave began to talk:
“Are you really this dumb? I can’t listen to you. Save your breath until I get closer...”
He was pacing on my bed:
“Laura, what are you going to do?”
“Haven’t your heard my mother?! I have to walk the fucking dog!”
“In fact, I heard her, I just couldn’t understand a word of it.”
“Oh yes, I keep forgetting Americans are the only people in the world who are so cool they can afford to be monolingual! Everywhere, everyone else has to learn some other languages but not the mighty Americans...”
Can you believe he had the guts to say: “Laura, you’re rambling!”
“Of course I’m rambling. I was dumb enough to believe you, I still know nothing about Economics and now I have to walk the dog! What did you expect?”
“I didn’t know about the do—
“Shut up.”
I positioned my sandal alongside his body and began to make some mental calculations:
“Laura, what are you doing?”
“Quiet. I’m checking if something is feasible... Hmm... I think it is, let’s give it a try.”
This strappy sandal had one detail I find particularly cool: a strap-arch under which to fit the big toe. I also thought that Mark Orion was the perfect size for what I had in my devious mind.
“Didn’t you say you didn’t wear leather?”
“Synthetic.” I ripped the toe-strap off.
“Why are you doing this? You’ve just ruined a very sexy sandal...”
“Thank you, but it will be worth it. I’m assuming you stretch a lot before your work-out sessions!”
“Actually, I do. In fact, I work out fiv—
Mark, I’m SO interested!! Why do slaves assume their giant owners have any curiosity at ALL about their lives? People tell me all sorts of useless gibberish! I’m going to kill them anyway, what difference does it make to me if he has three or four kids or if he was an engineer or a doctor? They pretty much all squeeze the same and, truth be told, that’s all I expect from them. When I want intelligent conversation, I call my boyfriend, thank you! You, shut up and die! Boy, I hate Giantess freaks!
I grabbed him before he could finish his stupid sentence and I began to tear his clothes off:
“Why are—
“With your clothes on, people on the street may think you’re a person — which you aren’t, of course. Besides, your red pants don’t go with my brown sandals.”
In a few seconds, he was totally naked:
“Now relax your body.”
“Why... what? Laura...”
“I hate repeating myself, slave. We’re going to play Giantess. Relax your body or you may get hurt. And prepare yourself for a good stretch...”
He smiled and winked at me: “Ok, let’s play.”
It was his last moment of total innocence — ever. Gloves are off. Now he would suffer a little before the end. I placed his feet into one of the holes where the strap-arch used to be:
“Laura, no...”
His feet were still loose, he would slip away with no effort at all. I got a stapler and I just stapled his feet in there. This didn’t hurt him, of course: the staple was like a bar over his feet, ensuring he wouldn’t break free.
Poor Mark Orion had already guessed what I had in mind:
“Laura, please, no! Think about it. This will hurt!”
“No pain, no gain. Relax your back and stretch your arms.”
“I’d love to role-play with you, Laura, but this might seriously hurt me.”
“All Giantess fantasies include a tiny man suffering, don’t they? Besides, forget role-play and fantasy, this is real life!”
“Laura, this might even kill me!”
I sighed unhappily: “It’s a chance I’ll have to take. God knows I’ll never forgive myself if such a thing happens! I still have a lot of other “games” to play but... you know... accidents do happen... Don’t worry: I’ll be ok! There are always more tiny men where you came from...”
“Laura...”
“Do as you’re told. Now.”
Some small part of him still wanted to believe that this was harmless role-playing with a friendly girl. Ah, hope... What would I do without you? Anyway, he obeyed.
I placed his hands on the hole where the other end of the strap-arch used to be. This time, I needed two staples, and I even had to twist them a bit, to make sure his hands were firmly held there. And... pronto! I had a new arch on my sandal under which to place my big toe: a flesh arch! Mark Orion was totally arched, his muscles so contracted you could see he really must have been a strong man. Unfortunately, in the size he was in now, those staples were stronger than prison bars...
He laughed, the fool: “Yes, this is fun! To be used as a sandal strap by the proverbial Evil Giantess... I always said you were creative, Laura.” It was delightful to detect the first hints of desperation behind his calm words “Now, let me go...”
“You don’t get it, do you? No problem. You will. And I’ll love to watch as you slowly realize what kind of helpless jam you’re in. Oh, and I strongly encourage you to laugh while you can. Things will get a bit rougher from now on.”
He sighed and let his butt drop. No longer an arch, he looked like a weird “M”.
“Well, slave, I’m glad you liked those sandals because there’s a good chance you may die—
“LAURA!!! Didn’t you say you would walk the dog?!”
“I’ll be out in a second!” And I turned to him: “See what I have to put up with? This is one of the reasons I’m pissed!”
“I don’t know Portuguese but I got the general idea from her to—
“Shut up.”
I placed my new improved sandal on top of my table and went looking for my camera:
“I simply HAVE to take a picture of you! This is just great! Better do it now... After I place my big foot on it, I might destroy my work...”
As I approached him with the camera, he asked:
“Do you take pictures of your role-plays? I’d like to see the pics you took of some of the others...”
“Believe me, you’d not like it. Now, now, picture time. Look like someone who knows he’s about to be worn and subsequently killed by an Evil Giantess...”
“But Laura...” He looked desolated and that was good enough:
“Raise your butt, I want to see the arch!”
He sighed: “Ok...”
“Great! That’s perfect. Ian will love this!”
After taking some shots, I left the camera on my bedside table. If I could keep him from getting killed, there were several other shots I wanted to take:
“Let’s hope this will work. It has to be a perfect fit.” I told him “If the arch is too small, I won’t be able to put my big toe under it and wear you... And worse, if it’s too loose, you’d use my toe to rest your butt and that’s totally against the general spirit of the thing!”
“Laura, you can’t be serious. You—
“Well, let’s get it over with before my mom comes shouting again.”
I held the sandal in my hand, raised my foot to it and began to slowly slide my foot in:
“I hope this will be as good to you as it will be for me...” I giggled.
VI
She was insane! This whole sandal idea is just crazy! Luckily I have a great body but if I stayed in that position much longer, it would really upset my back!
If the whole thing was only about making me a sandal strap, maybe I would even laugh about it. But now she intended to wear me!
Look, it’s not that she’s evil or anything. I could tell she was a decent person. Laura was simply reckless, irresponsible! To her, this was just another Giantess play and it seemed that she hadn’t realized that I could get seriously hurt! She could break my back, even kill me!
Laura seemed oblivious to all that, as if she had a hidden conviction that it would all come out ok. Excuse me, but I was not so sure.
It’s hard to describe what I felt as her foot started to slide in my direction. On the one hand, her foot might have been the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my entire life. On the other, her big toe alone was capable of breaking me in two.
I had never watched anything so dangerous and threatening coming my way as Laura’s foot that day. It was like a diver observing a white shark slowly swimming in his direction: beautiful, elegant, deadly and closing in fast But even in all my fear, I couldn’t deny that her foot was gorgeous, as was her whole body. How on earth could something so stunningly beautiful also be so dangerous?
Her big toe started poking me and I raised myself as much as I could, trying to give it room to slide under me. If her little gadget didn’t work, she might get pissed.
“Oh my, I can’t believe it! Luck favors the evil, as I always say! A perfect fit!” She laughed of pure delight! This was all a joke to her.
In fact, the fit was a bit too tight. I had raised myself too much so that her big toe could slide under me and now I was stretched to the utmost. It was like being in the rack! With any luck, she would notice it: my whole body was already beginning to hurt!
Laura looked like a little girl with a new toy. She raised her foot in the air and she was staring at it with an expression of total happiness and bewilderment:
[This story, by the late Evil Laura, has been republished to the Evil Women blog (http://mulheresmalvadas.blogspot.com), the new home of Laura's stories. Please refer/link back to us if you reproduce or talk about this story, and don't remove this disclaimer.]
“I can’t believe it worked! This is so much fun! Look at you! Naked like that you look like a piece of clear leather! No one will notice it — but I’ll know you’re down there! The pain you must be going through... Hmmm!”
She picked up the camera again and took some shots:
“I want some pictures of you as my toe ornament...”
“Laura, it’s too tight!” I tried to scream “Too tight, I can’t stand it.”
But there’s no way she would hear my tiny voice more than a leg away and over her own voice and giggles. And I couldn’t even wave to get her attention!
“Hmm, and I can feel your warm body pressing against my toe...”
And then...
“In fact, pressing too much.” She brought her feet closer to her face:
“Too tight!” I muttered, already out of breath.
“You’re right, my darling. I’ll have to do something about it!”
There is a god! Laura went to her table and came back with the stapler:
“I have to bind you extra-tight, or these staples will let go and I might even step on you!”
I couldn’t believe it! She stapled my hands and feet a couple of times more and the pressure increased: I felt like I was going to burst!
“Laura, please...” I begged, while her face was still close enough that she would hear me “It hurts too much! Release me!”
She grinned widely and shook her head: “No can do! Pain is good for the soul, builds character! Besides, it amuses the hell out of me and I’m loving to feel your body pressing against my toe!”
“Laura, I’m begging you...” It was getting increasingly hard to speak “You’re not considering... the consequences of your actions... If you leave me here... I’ll break my back...”
She shook her head again: “Don’t worry about that, dear. I have a lot of experience with the limits of human physiology and I can tell you this: our bodies are a lot tougher than we consider them to be — if we can just stand the pain, of course. If I raise my toe on you now, believe me, the staples would let go before your back, never the other way around. Your back is stronger than the staples! It will only hurt A LOT, of course, but that’s the whole point of the game, isn’t it?”
“L-lau—
“Want a demonstration? We’ll have to get going soon!”
“No, no, please...”
“Don’t worry, dear: I won’t raise my toe very much, I don’t want to have to staple you again!”
Below me, I could feel her warm, lovely big toe slightly pressing against my back. It was more than enough. I let out a piercing scream — promptly followed by Laura’s jolly laughter.
“God!” was all I managed to utter.
“Maybe you should try Goddess. After all, I’m the one in charge here and the old man up there doesn’t seem to be helping you a lot... He never helped any of the other ones, that’s for sure! Anyway, didn’t I tell you your back would hold?” And she smiled at me.
I couldn’t say which part of my body hurt the most. I was completely stretched and strained and all she could do was look at me and smile. Did she have any idea how much pain she had just inflicted on me? She couldn’t have or she wouldn’t have done it. She really thinks this is all a harmless game! No one would have done such a thing knowingly and then smiled at me as she was smiling...
I looked around me. To my right, I could see the sides of her big toe and parts of the toe-nail. Was this the same delicious, sexy toe I had just been licking? The same one that with the slightest wriggle caused me more pain than I had ever felt in my entire life? It just couldn’t be. It just wasn’t right! To my left, there was the rest of Laura’s foot, and then her leg and her whole glorious, reckless self. There was a smile right there on top. She was enjoying herself!
Laura brought her foot close to her face again:
“Admit it, wasn’t I right?”
I tried to speak: “Laura... it hurts too much... please release me...”
“So you admit I was right about that too?” she giggled “After all, I told you that all it would do was hurt like hell...”
“I can’t stand it...”
“Oh, don’t be a sissy on me now. We have barely started! All I did was raise my toe a millimeter! Just a warm-up! Wait for the pain you will feel when I begin to actually WALK!”
“Laura...” I tried “I don’t think... you conceive... just HOW much pain... I’m feeling right now...”
Her face brightened up completely. Suddenly, she was all happiness, from the broad smile to the twinkle in her eyes:
“Please tell me. Tell me all about your pain! You’d better tell me now... I don’t think you’d have the strength to talk when we come back... If you make it back, of course!”
Was she really insane?
“I don’t think I can survive... a walk... really... my body is mushed...”
Then I saw something that really scared me. Her merry expression was still the same — and it was scary enough — but her shoulder was moving in a strange way. I glanced down her arm and she was fingering herself through the short fabric of her shorts! I was silent for a second and she cooed:
“Don’t stop... Tell me more about your back!”
It all hit me at once: was it serious then? Was she really turned-on by my suffering? Did that mean she knew what kind of pain I was in? Or that she really didn’t care if I lived or died? I was frightened, very frightened and I seriously considered if that big toe I was feeling below me wouldn’t somehow end up crushing me...
Laura was still fingering herself and staring at me and suddenly she laughed:
“I can’t believe it! You Giantess freaks are all alike!”
What was so funny now, I thought?! Slowly, I followed her gaze down my body towards my groin.
I had a big erection.
VII
I really shouldn’t have done it. I don’t know, somehow it felt improper. After all, I was seriously dating Ian, he was the man of my life, it just wasn’t right to masturbate in front of another man. But I couldn’t resist it. My slave’s pain, the whole situation, it was all just too delicious: I was doing it before I was even aware I was doing it. Just to imagine that someone was suffering such a tremendous pain because of me, for no reason at all other than that I wished him to suffer, being tortured by the same toe he had worshipped, by the same woman he loved and desired... How can life get better than that?
[This story, by the late Evil Laura, has been republished to the Evil Women blog (http://mulheresmalvadas.blogspot.com), the new home of Laura's stories. Please refer/link back to us if you reproduce or talk about this story, and don't remove this disclaimer.]
And then, to top it all, he was aroused too! I think that’s the definition of a Giantess Foot freak. Ladies and gentleman, here we have a man one step — literally — away from death, in terrible pain, tied around a woman’s big toe, a woman visibly concerned only with making him suffer as much as possible, a woman enjoying it all so much she’s masturbating, and what does he do? He gets a hard-on!
I couldn’t stop it. Not with that erect dick facing me. The man deserved to be crushed! And I deserved an orgasm...
And then...
“LAAAAUURA!! NOOW!”
That was that. Even evil, all-powerful Giantesses have higher powers to answer to. I could finish what I had started later on. My consolation was that my slave wouldn’t:
“Envious of me, slave?” I mocked him, and pointed to his tiny erection “As long as I’m around — and I’ll be around a lot longer than you, trust me — this disgusting thing won’t be touched. I know you can’t help being turned on by my evilness, but I can certainly stop you from relieving yourself. This will be part of my pleasure!”
He tried to say something, his dick still throbbing, but I was lowering my leg and I didn’t hear it.
“Time for the real pain to start, slave. Brace yourself and try to hang on to my toe. If you survive, you can tell me again about your pain. You know I’d love to hear it... And, please, don’t give up on me. Try to survive! I have a lot of other things planned for you before I kill you...”
I looked myself in the mirror. It was perfect. No one could see there was a man strapped around my big toe. In the dark of the night, way down there, he looked just like another sandal ornament.
As I headed for the door, I said my final words of mockery:
“I won’t be talking to you out there, slave, because I don’t want everyone in the neighborhood to think I’m a loony who talks to herself. You, however, may scream at will, no one will hear it, anyway. I just wanted to remind you of a little something:”
And I bent my body and stared at him and his throbbing dick, and I tried to sound as cute as possible:
“Be sure to make the most of your last breaths of fresh air. This will be the last time you’re outdoors. When we come back, you won’t leave this room alive. So enjoy it!”
His erection still held. I wonder if he had liked what I had said... With Giantess freaks you never know:
“Oh, and how could I forget it! This will be your first walk in my city! I’m such a terrible hostess! Welcome to Rio!”
(read Slave Mark M.'s story so that you have an idea of what I was planning for the rest of this story... maybe someday I'll even finish it...)
The Evil Queen Laura doesn't hang around #!!Giantess anymore... You may find her at her home page, that is, here!, or by clicking on the link below to send her mail. Actually, right now, the only place you're really sure to find her is at WORK!!! *sigh* Tell us all your opinions and reactions to these stories.
Good old Word takes care of spelling mistakes but the Evil Queen Laura fortunately is not American and her native tongue is not English. So, if you find awkward sentences, usage mistakes and common expressions used out of their normal context... Well, that's your problem! ! And my deepest thanks to my three Proof-Reading Slaves: Mr.Floorplan, Aileron and Mark M. You've all helped me a LOT!!
Feel free to distribute this story around. The more readers the better. You may send it via e-mail to your friends, post it in newsgroups, in giantess home pages, anything. Just don't change a word, a comma or a paragraph. This is my story and, mistakes and all, that's the way it's supposed to be. If you have a problem, write your own story: don't edit mine!"
Check back here in a few days to read Slave Mark M.'s story. Pedro
