A day in the market  part I by willie   We basked in the first rays of warm filtered sunlight shining in through the plate glass

A day in the market  part I by willie   We basked in the first rays of warm filtered sunlight shining in through the plate glass

A day in the market

part I

by willie

We basked in the first rays of warm filtered sunlight shining in through the

plate glass window. The giant leaves on the sill tried to rob us of the valuable

light, but we were able to find patches of the sun's energy squirting its way

through the living maze of green. Outside in the real world, winter's icy

tentacles spread out across the city streets. Inside under the morning rays, we

were trying to shake the cold night chill.

We knew we had an hour before the manager, Suzanne, would march up the sidewalk

outside leaving footprints of thin crushed ice in her trail and unlock the

double doors. She was like a postal employee. Neither rain nor snow nor sub-zero

temperatures would keep her from her appointed rounds. In the time we've been

here she hasn't missed a day, not a single one. In fact, she has never even been

a minute late.

"Coffee's done," Max said as she joined our group. She held the steaming pot in

one hand and a stack of cups in the other. The smell of the rich brand brought

my body temperature up a few more degrees. We all took turns brewing the morning

coffee, but Max's always tasted the best. She was the only female in our little

group, and she had a knack for cooking.

Letting Max make the coffee every morning would have been nice for the rest of

us, but that's not how things worked in our world. Whoever wason second watch

made the morning coffee. They were up anyway.

First watch went from ten PM to two AM. Second watch picked up at two and lasted

until six. By then, most of us were awake. The watches were very important; in

fact they were crucial to our survival. We found that out early on. Although

Suzanne kept the place immaculate, an occasional critter did make its way

inside. In the first week we lost two men to a rat, but since we put up

sentries, we've had no more casualties to rodents. That's not to say we haven't

had casualties. We've had more than our share of them.

"So what are you going to do today?" Pete asked me as he took a sip of his tepid

black liquid. Pete was probably my best friend. We had grown quite close since

we found ourselves here almost two years ago.

"Oh I don't know," I answered. I took a sip myself and trembled as the heat

coursed down my throat and exploded in all directions sending warmth throughout

my body. God I loved a warm cup on a cold morning.

"Tell me you're not going to spend the day staring up the new checkout girl's

dress again," Pete said disgustingly. "You promised."

"No," I answered. "I'm going to spend another boring day hanging with you while

you dream of kissing big toes." I gave a disgusting sneer right back.

Pete liked feet, female feet. He loved female toes. I, for one, didn't get the

attraction. The thought of hiding beneath five sweaty smelly toes turned my

stomach. What floated my boat shook its way fifty feet up in the air. Where Pete

adored the smelly hard flesh of a woman's toes, I fantasized about the full soft

roundness of the female backside.

Pete was right, though. I was going to do what I had done most of the week. I

was going to stare at the humongous backside of the new checkout girl. It had

only been six days but I was in love. I finished my share of the Hostess donut

and took another large swallow of the mountain blend. I wonder if anyone ever

weighed the unopened box of donuts and found the net weight was light by one

donut. I doubted it. The fact that so many of the round pastries came in a box

along with their fat content, made them our breakfast of choice. The sugar

always got me started and the cholesterol kept me going all morning long.

Pete finished his coffee and headed to the frozen food department. He had more

room to hide under the open freezers that housed the frozen raviolis and the

Ellio's pizzas. He swore women spent twice as much time sorting through the

frozen foods than they took grabbing a loaf of bread or a box of cereal. He was

probably right. He was the expert on such matters. I just hoped he didn't fall

into the trap so many others had perished from.

When we first found ourselves in this prison, we were some fifty members strong.

Although none of us had any past life memories, we assumed we were being

punished for past acts. Acting out the remainder of our lives as four-inch tall

rodents in a giant market was punishment for some pre-lived horror.

Actually, who ever thought up the punishment was a genius. We were taken from

normal society. We were put in a place where the three necessities were

abundant. We had shelter. Clothes were easily made from a plethora of available

sources. And food, well food was obviously not a problem, although we did find

the packaging a challenge in the beginning.

The real punishment came from the need to have the opposite sex. The only woman

we were given was Max, and Max, even if there was enough of her to go around,

wanted no part of us sexually. Max wasn't just a lesbian; Max would have kicked

any one of our asses if we even laid a finger on her. Sure a group of us could

have subdued her enough to have a go around, but nobody really ever thought

about it. Max was one of us. She was just one of the guys.

Our punishment came day in and day out as giant woman after giant woman paraded

above us in low cut tops, short skirts, and sandals. Not a day went by without

each and every one of us lusting for an uncovered crotch, a half bare ass, or a

sparsely clad set of cleavage. We had constant hard-ons, all but Max. She was

hard everywhere else.

Many had already succumbed to their desires. One guy, Tom I think his name was,

was so enthralled by a three-day-a-week customer's cleavage that he'd sit above

the frozen food for hours waiting for her return. By the time she'd come and

gone, he was almost frost bitten.

Finally about a year ago, Tom snapped. The woman he lusted for took a little too

long picking out a watermelon and Tom jumped. Tom jumped right into her

cantaloupes. She felt his cold body land but she had no idea what was happening.

She couldn't see him. Between her slaps and her bouncing breasts as she jumped

up and down, Tom was mashed into silly putty. I witnessed that one first hand.

Out of the fifty that we started with, only eleven survive to date. Each day we

wonder who will go next, lured beyond control to their death. We have a secret

bet going as to who will be the last survivor. Who will hold their wits together

the longest and avoid their demise? My bet is Max. She seems tougher than the

rest of us. She's a whole notch ahead of me and I consider myself a notch ahead

of everyone else.

In the end it won't matter. Whoever is the last survivor won't last long alone

in our world. Without the strong support of the collective, he or she won't have

a prayer in hell of fighting off the desire to become part of one of the giant

people. It's already obvious. With each person we lose, they gain more control.

As our number dwindles, their lure on us increases drastically. As strong as I

consider myself, I sometimes wonder how long I can last the daily pull.

Watching Pete scamper off toward produce reminds me of how Tim met his fate. As

recent in my mind as it is, I know it is more so in Pete's. Pete was with Tim at

the time. Tim adored women's feet even more that Pete does. The woman looked

innocent enough as she approached the spot under the cucumbers where Pete and

Tim were hanging out. She lingered a few minutes while she picked one out that

was long enough hard enough and fat enough to meet her needs. After she dropped

what Pete later referred to as a donkey dick into a plastic bag, she turned to

walk off but stopped after only one stride.

The woman did something Tim had been waiting for for months. She slid her left

foot out of her shoe and bent down to pick it up. From the way Pete described

her face, she must have been spectacular. He then went on to tell me her bare

foot outdid her face. I found that very hard to believe.

The woman then turned her pump up side down and shook out the pebble that was

bothering her. She gently placed her shoe on the floor and stood back up, but

before she had time to retake possession of her shoe, Tim dashed like a crazed

bull out into the open and dove head first into it. Pete said he had tried to

stop Tim, but was just too late. Tim was on a mission.

A second later, the woman who has not since returned to this market slipped her

foot into the shoe. She gave it a little shake and strode confidently off toward

the feminine hygiene aisle. That was the last we saw of Tim. We all knew he

couldn't have lasted long. We also knew he died with a smile on his face. The

woman no doubt wore his tattered remains under her soles for weeks with

absolutely no idea a tiny man was ever in her shoe.

Tim wasn't the only man to die under a woman's foot. At least twenty of our dead

were crushed under women's shoes. Many deaths were accidental; caused by tiny

men getting too close to either smell the aroma a female foot carried with it or

to catch a glimpse up a skirt or dress. Many were foolishly crushed just trying

to get from one place to another. It didn't take an ESTES engineer (rocket

scientist on our scale) to know not to run across the floor during peak shopping

hours. It's a shame so many were killed meaninglessly, unable to end it while

fulfilling their fantasy.

I remember one guy, a large doofy oaf we called Big George, who lost it when he

saw a pair of open toed wooden clogs approach. Of course it wasn't the clogs

that switched the silicon chip inside hid head to overload. It was the

fluorescent lights reflecting off the red painted toenails hiding behind the

shadowed openings that did it. Giant shiny eyes that saw right through Big

George were luring him in. Before the woman even stopped walking, George dove

into the hole at the front of one of the clogs. He managed to land partially

where he wanted. His head ended up between the unknowing woman shopper's big and

second toes. Unfortunately for Big George, the rest of his body landed

underneath the hard wooden shell of the shoe. We took a poll as to whether his

neck broke before his chest was crushed. It ended in a tie.

All the checkout counters have a stool tucked under the cash register. They are

there by OSHA standards. Checkers have to be offered the chance to sit down if

they are tired. Some of the older checkers do sit down during lulls. Not the

younger ones. The new girls were always full of vim and vigor. They couldn't

afford to let their boss, Suzanne, catch them at rest. The new checker, the one

I was infatuated with, was no different. She had a stool tucked under her

checkout counter, but to date, I was the only one that had ever sat on it. I

tossed my Styrofoam cup in the trash and headed in that same direction.

The market we live in isn't very deep from front to back. This shortcoming is

countered by its width. From the spot where the sun's rays first enter the store

to where my favorite checkout girl will be in a matter of an hour and a half is

a very long distance for a four inch tall man. I don't mind the walk. I consider

it my morning exercise, not that I need it. I have to eat four times my body

weight daily just not to freeze to death. What I don't like about the distance

is the amount of tiny crosses painted on the floor.

Every time one of us dies we mark the spot with a cross. The tiny crucifixes are

scattered all over the floor. Each time I pass one, I remember the person who

the cross is commemorating. I also remember how each one died. Most I saw first

hand. It seems no matter where we hide, we almost always see our peers meet

their demise. I figure that's also part of the punishment. I don't know what I

did in my other life, but I do know it must have been bad.

I just passed Billy Haslett's cross, and like every other day, I feel remorse.

Billy H. was a good guy, a top-notch person. Seeing him impaled on that woman's

spiked heel was something I'll never forget as long as I live. You talk about a

slow death. Her heal was completely through his midsection and somehow he was

still alive. I still remember his screams as the unknowing woman put bread and

eggs and flour into her cart. He floundered under her foot as she left the candy

aisle and headed toward the dog food.

The woman with the black spiked heels speared Billy minutes after she entered

the store. We still heard his cries as she checked out and left the store. Even

Suzanne knew something was up. She always did. She was our warden. That's why

she never missed a minute. Suzanne came out of her office to bag the goods.

Suzanne only bagged the goods when one of us was in trouble.

Suzanne wasn't only a witness. Suzanne was responsible for a few lives herself.

Harvey was one of them. Harvey was an old fart. He was in his sixties. Harvey

had seen better days but surprisingly had one more grand finale left in him. He

spent hour after hour perched like a crazed cockatoo underneath Suzanne's desk

looking up her skirt. Suzanne always wore a skirt. Even in the dead of winter

Suzanne had her legs exposed.

As the story goes, Harvey in all his glory got bold one day and jumped onto

Suzanne's chair. Her legs were spread and she must have been ovulating for the

aroma abounded. Harvey's decrepit knees held and he crawled in-between her open

thighs towards her distended vagina. He made it all the way to where his nose

hit moisture before the mighty thighs closed. Harvey's quest was squelched, so

soon would be his life.

Harvey wanted Mr. Reaper to take his soul. His tired body was ready. Harvey

wanted to die inside his promised land. He wanted to think his last thought and

feel his last sensation inside the pussy of the woman he had grown to adore.

That woman wanted no parts of Harvey's pathetic wishes. She crushed him with her

thighs and let his worthless carcass drop to floor. The worst part is I think

the sick bitch enjoyed it. We marked his death just outside Suzanne's office.

I'm sure she watched.

The first day I saw the new checkout girl standing in the ten items or less

aisle, I bee-lined in her direction. After breaking the rule about running

through a crowded supermarket, I found a safe spot underneath the counter to

check her out. I wanted to see if she was as pretty up close as she had seemed

from across the store, but every time I tried to look up at her face, my gaze

zeroed in and landed on her voluptuous bottom. It was her first day at work, and

to make a good impression, she wore a tight dress. The shiny red material it was

made from stretched to its limit around her supple ass high-lighting each curve

and crevice. I was instantly in love.

I'm sure that Suzanne didn't care much about the new girl's credentials. Suzanne

didn't care if the new checker knew that eggs go in the top of the bag and that

the frozen foods get bagged together. Suzanne probably didn't give a shit if the

new employee was rude to shoppers. One look at the young woman's perfect face

and magnificent body was all it took. Suzanne knew many men would suffer from a

severe case of lust over this one. Suzanne also knew many would meet their

demise at her hands or feet or bottom. I wondered if I'd be one of them.

It took me a couple days of gawking from the floor before I built up enough

courage to climb onto the stool. The new girl hadn't even looked at the stool. I

knew it would be a while before she would even think about resting her legs and

sitting down on the job.

Two days ago I decided it was time to make the climb. Once again the new

checkout girl, Lisa I finally heard someone call her, had worn a super short

skirt to work. She wasn't in front of her register more than five seconds before

I noticed she had on a pair of teal blue thong panties and, no, I couldn't see

the strap. It was so far buried between her butt cheeks I thought it might be

gone for good. I desperately wanted a closer look.

I watched her closely as she worked, swinging with grace and style like a

seasoned ballerina from the checkout counter to the cash register and back

again. Each time she spun, her skirt ballooned up and gently fell back over her

flowing curves. I noticed the stool wasn't tucked all the way under the counter

like it had been the previous two days. Each time Lisa moved near it, her skirt

flowed over the cushion of the stool, temporarily blanketing it in its soft

cotton. I knew if I were on the edge of the stool, I'd actually be inside her

skirt as it passed over me. That thought convinced me that it was time to make

the climb.

As I sat leaning on the leg of the stool staring up at the enormous female

backside gently moving above me and waiting for the right chance to make my move

upward, another thought crept into my mind. How had the chair gotten from its

position completely under the counter to its current position a quarter of the

way out? A sick feeling came to my stomach as I answered the question myself.

Consuelo must have left it that way.

Consuelo was the head member of the cleaning outfit that disinfected the market

every night after the doors closed. She and her cohorts methodically scrubbed

the shelves and mopped the floor with the precision of a surgical team. Consuelo

wasn't just interested in doing a good job. She had another motive. She had been

cleaning the store for so long now that she could see us. Every night she would

search every nook and cranny looking for a tiny living souvenir to have some fun

with. Consuelo was a very dangerous woman and we avoided her like the plague.

Harry was the first one of us Consuelo found. He was careless and wondered out

into the open while the cleaning crew was on duty. He saw one of them and

panicked. Harry ran right into a trap Consuelo had set herself. He hid in the

safety of fallen box that was triggered to close and sure enough it worked. The

raven-haired goddess appeared from around the corner and grabbed the box before

any of us could help him. She opened the box and looked inside at her captured

little toy. I'll never forget the look of raw excitement and pure power she had

on her face. I can only imagine what it looked like to poor Harry. She then

dumped the contents of the box into her waiting hand and hurried into the ladies

room.

Jason, who spent most of his time in the lady's room, witnessed Harry's demise.

We all wanted to make our way into the room to see for ourselves, but we were

all too afraid of Consuelo. According to Jason, who would have fled for his own

life but was afraid Consuelo would catch him too, Harry was used as a living

dildo. Consuelo worked his screaming form in and out of her wet vagina for a

good ten minutes before she erupted into screams herself. At that time, Harry's

screams had turned to silent whimpers. After she had her climax, Consuelo pushed

Harry all the way inside herself, pulled up her panties, and went back to work.

We all saw her as she broke through the lady's room door. A rosy glow shown off

her tan complexion and a warm smile lit up her face. We knew right away what had

become of Harry.

Consuelo caught two more of us since her pussy devoured Harry. Ironically, Jason

was the next to meet his demise at her hands. At least it would seem ironic on

the surface. Actually it wasn't ironic at all. Jason flat out deserved it. After

Harry's death, Jason became obsessed with Consuelo. He began sleeping most of

the day so he could follow her around all night. He even gave up hanging out in

the lady's room. His new goal in life was to catch a peek up her dress at her

man-devouring vagina.

In the end Jason got more than just the peek he yearned for. It was inevitable.

Consuelo knew Jason was following. She bided her time and waited for Jason to

make a mistake. It didn't take long for that to happen. Consuelo caught him late

one night after he strayed too far into the open and carried him into the

bathroom. Jason met the same fate he witnessed happen to Harry. It was probably

the fate he wanted.

Consuelo caught her third victim the same night she caught Jason. Talk about

being on a roll. I guess Barry was interested in Jason's well being because when

Consuelo busted through the lady's room door all aglow, Barry was just standing

there. He didn't even try to run. He knew it would do no good. He was toast.

Barry was a two hundred twenty pound body builder who fell to his knees and

cried. Consuelo simply scooped him up and held his dangling body over her open

mouth.

"You look good enough to eat," was all she said to him before she dropped him

into her mouth. Consuelo sucked on Barry for a while before she swallowed him.

Actually she didn't just swallow him. She did to Barry what caused every one of

us to fear her more than we feared our worst childhood nightmare. She slowly and

enjoyably chewed Barry's muscular body to pulp. Droplets of Barry's blood leaked

from the corners of her grinning mouth as she swallowed his remains. "Adios Sr.

Tough Guy," she said and went back to work.

The fact that Consuelo was somehow involved made me extremely nervous, but

staring up at Lisa's ass and crotch was driving me to the point of madness. I

was beginning to understand what happened to us; why we got to the point where

we just couldn't take it anymore. Acting on our temptation was like releasing a

great burden off our shoulders. It was like taking a dead weight off our minds.

It was simply the way.

I waited until Lisa left the confines of her cash register area to grab a cup of

coffee before I made my move. When she returned thirty seconds later, I was

safely sitting on the black leather of the stool's cushion. The actual climb was

quite easy for a man my size. The only thing that made it remotely difficult was

the fact that I had to continuously look over my shoulder. Even though the leg I

was climbing was well under the counter, I couldn't shake the feeling that this

was a set up. I didn't want Suzanne to appear out of nowhere and grab me in mid

climb.

When Lisa reappeared in front of me, the enormity of the situation brought me

back to my senses. I had been ready to lie myself down on the cushion and put

myself at the mercy of Lisa and her beautiful ass. It was scary seeing how close

to the brink I was. I realized my current stay had better be a short one so I

could maintain my sanity.

It wasn't long before the express aisle got another customer. With him, or her,

came the beginning of my entertainment at a much closer level. Lisa's thighs

from this range looked good enough to bite into. They were obviously soft, yet

they had a muscular firmness. Her skin looked as supple as lamb's wool. As her

right leg bumped up against the side of the stool, I had to fight off the urge

to run up and embrace it.

As Lisa scanned the items, her skirt cascaded over the seat cushion leaving me

with the desire to crawl under it. I felt a tightening in my balls as I thought

about how thrilling it would be to actually put myself in the world of her

skirt, inches from her thighs and her promised land. Even though I knew I should

climb back down to the floor, the temptation was beginning to get the better of

my senses. I was unknowingly inching forward, lured by the sirens song in my

mind, when I heard a different but all too familiar voice.

"Do you need help with the bags?" came Suzanne's voice from the real world

above. The sound of her overbearing tone brought my straying self-control back

to the forefront of my mind. Suzanne was here. She had to know I was on the

stool. She came to see me get myself killed. I stopped in my tracks and did an

about-face. There was no longer any need to linger. I ran back to the far edge

of the cushion and jumped to the stool's leg where I slid down to the floor.

Once on the cold linoleum under the counter, I took off running like a bat out

of hell. I wasn't absolutely sure if Suzanne knew I was on the stool, but I had

a strong feeling she did. I headed in Pete's direction. I ran with reckless

abandon, fueled by the overdose of adrenaline that flooded my blood stream,

almost getting myself stepped on twice. I found Pete right where I thought he'd

be, under the frozen vegetables.

"That's it," I panted to Pete as I sat down next to him.

"What's wrong?" Pete asked. "You're as white as an old lady's sole."

"I have to stay away from that new checkout girl," I answered shaking my head.

"I almost lost it and did something stupid."

"You've gotten yourself hooked on her," Pete lectured. "What you need to do is

chill here with me for a couple of days." I don't know if Pete intended to make

a pun, but he did. Chill under the frozen veggies. "After a couple of days

you'll see things from a different perspective."

"I guess you're right," I conceded. "I do need a break, but I don't really want

to spend two days staring at ugly giant toes."

"Are you kidding?" Pete sounded exasperated. "It's the middle of winter. I

haven't seen a pair of open toed shoes all week. It's quite depressing." We both

laughed. I laughed partially in relief. Suzanne had been a little over-zealous.

Had she staid in her office a little longer, she may just have had me. I was

lucky and I knew it.

After my scare of two day's ago I was sure I had learned my lesson. I was

staying away from the sexy new checkout girl and her wondrous rear end; at least

I thought I was.

***

part II

by willie

I sipped the last drops of now luke warm coffee Max made earlier as I sat

gawking up at the empty stool towering above me like a giant water tank casting

its shadow upon the thirsty valley below. I thought back to the feeling of lust

that almost overwhelmed me two days ago when I was actually up on the cushion,

inches away from the young woman whose spell on me I couldn't break.

Yesterday I spent with Pete, boring and depressed Pete. Pete needed desperately

to see a set of female toes, but until the sun warmed the cruel cold world

outside to semi-spring temperatures, Pete was seeing nothing but salt whitened

dirty boots. I think the day I spent with him did Pete more good than it did me.

Pete was so depressed that if I weren't at his side, he'd have run out and

thrown himself under a shiny black leather dress boot that parked itself right

smack in front of him. Of course they belonged to another cucumber buyer. Where

did cucumbers come from this time of year anyway?

I was able to grab Pete's arm and physically restrain him until the woman moved

on to the next aisle. I had thought Pete was strong. For that matter, I had

thought I was strong. It was obvious we were losing the battle.

After one full day away from the talented Lisa, I thought I had my craving for

her backside licked. Well it was almost a full day. After Pete retired to his

hole in the wall for the night, I made my way to the express checkout counter. I

felt I deserved it. I had stayed away all day looking at shoes.

What I saw at the checkout counter didn't surprise me. Lisa had on another

ultra-short costume and she looked marvelous. She looked better than marvelous,

but I came away feeling no love for her. My day with Pete was a success. As I

walked back toward my own place of rest, I noticed a nagging feeling inside that

was trying to tell me something, something I really didn't want to know. I

didn't care. My infatuation with Lisa was over. Tomorrow I was going to find a

new hobby, and no, the new hobby had nothing to do with feet.

Half way back to my tiny dorm it dawned on me what was nagging at me. It was the

stool. It had been moved. I stopped dead in my tracks and thought about it. Was

my mind playing tricks on me or was the chair sitting further in the open. I

reversed my course and headed back toward the express aisle. What I found

confirmed what the little voice in my head was telling me.

The stool was pulled half way out from under the counter. I sat down way under

the counter where I knew I was safe and watched for a while. Each time Lisa

turned toward the register, her backside rubbed against the side of the cushion.

A couple of times it almost looked like she was resting against it. Although she

wasn't to the point of actually sitting on the stool, she was a step closer.

I watched a while longer before I pulled my gaze away and retired for the

evening. It was almost closing time and Lisa's long shift was about over.

Besides, I was starting to get that crazy feeling again. I needed a good night's

sleep to sort things out.

That night I lied awake for hours thinking. Deep down, I knew I wasn't anywhere

close to being over Lisa. I worried I'd never get over her, not until I got

myself killed. I wondered who pulled the stool out. I doubted it was Lisa. She

wasn't ready to show a weak side. Maybe it was Consuelo or maybe it was Suzanne.

It surely wasn't an accident. No, someone was challenging me and that somebody

was winning.

Pete and I promised each other that we'd be careful this morning as we set our

opposite courses. We almost believed each other. Not only Pete and I knew the

end was near. Our whole colony sensed it. It was Max's strength we all fed off.

Her drive always helped us make it through another day.

Like always, Suzanne was the first to arrive this morning, opening the doors

with her gloved fingers. I didn't care much for Suzanne, but one part of her I

admired greatly was her hands. She had long perfect looking fingers that were

topped with shiny well-manicured nails. Her palms were soft and warm looking. I

used to imagine being wrapped up by her fingers and squeezed until the life

popped out of my body, which is exactly what Suzanne would do if she caught one

of us.

I'm surprised it hasn't happened to any of us yet. Jerry, who hangs out in the

woman's pantyhose racks, tells everyone that it did happen to him. Actually,

Jerry hangs out inside the pantyhose packets. He makes a tiny slit in the

plastic and squeezes his way inside the nylons. He claims a beautiful young

woman once tried to buy the package he was hiding in, thus granting him freedom

Suzanne, who just happened to be bagging at the time, pulled him out. Jerry

swears she squeezed him to unconsciousness before dropping him on the floor

during peak shopping hours. He also claims she left him to be crushed to death

by an unknowing shopper. No one believes him. Sure he was found in the middle of

the floor out cold, somehow unscathed by shopper's shoes. Lenny and Joe dragged

the lucky SOB to safety, but we all came to the conclusion that Jerry wondered

out into the open and got kicked in the head.

The cold draft from the open door sent a chill up my spine as Suzanne came in

from the cold. She quickly closed the door and headed toward her office. The

express aisle, where I was watching from, was along her path. I watched her

approach from well under the counter, her dress boots clomping along the cold

floor leaving droplets of frozen water in their wake. She removed her long wool

coat as she approached my area, exposing a white blouse and a brown skirt.

As Suzanne passed the express aisle, she draped her coat over her arm and in the

process dropped one of her leather gloves. It landed on the floor right in front

of me. "Shit!" I heard her exclaim. It wasn't often one heard Suzanne use an

explorative.

I retreated further into the darkness as Suzanne's lovely hand reached for the

glove. Somehow it had landed on the other side of the stool from where Suzanne

was walking and she couldn't reach it. I got a good long look at her extended

fingers as she reached for the elusive hand warmer. Her fingers were flawless,

her nails long and shiny. What weapons they truly were. Then her hand pulled

away.

There was a loud screeching sound as the stool moved out into the open. It had

been tucked neatly under the counter. I knew right then that Consuelo wasn't the

culprit. Suzanne then leaned on the stool with her left hand and reached for the

black leather glove with her right. It was still a long reach. I wanted to run

out and push it toward her. Actually I wanted to run out and climb inside it,

but I held my position.

Suzanne's head was almost under the counter before she finally reached her glove

and wrapped her claws around it, digging them into its flesh like it was one of

us. She then stood back up, tucked the glove into her pocketbook, another place

I someday might want to visit, and spoke.

"Good morning my little rodents," she said and walked the rest of the way to her

office. Of course, I wondered if it was me she directed her greeting toward. I

don't think she saw me, but who knows for sure. Nothing seems to get past

Suzanne. I guess it's her job.

If I peer around the edge of the little wall under the end of the counter, where

the bagger stands, I can see clear into Suzanne's office. I watched her hang up

her coat and put her things on her desk. She then opened the panel box and

flipped up the breakers that turned on the electric door openers. After that, it

was off to the lunchroom where she would put on a cup of coffee for the

employees. Often times I smelled the coffee Suzanne brewed. A few times I even

tasted it. She had her pick of the various blends the market sold and she

experimented with a variety of different kinds of coffee.

Of course we had the same variety. We were able to use the same grinders the big

people used and puree the beans of our own choice. Our coffee ranged from

excellent when the likes of Max made it, to down right foul tasting if made by

someone whose heart just wasn't in it. The pot of coffee first put on in the

morning by Suzanne was always good. It gave her employees incentive to arrive

for work early. Only the first eight or so to arrive in the morning got to enjoy

it. After Suzanne's pot was gone, it was potluck as to what the liquid in the

pot actually tasted like.

After my early morning scare at the bare hands of Suzanne, who had just

disappeared around the corner, I focused my attention back on the stool. It sat

proudly out in the open like a pillar of strength, not even remotely hidden from

view. Its legs waited patiently to support the weight of Lisa's tired rump. I

wondered if today would be the day it was put to that test.

I heard the cranky whine of the automatic door opener's motor, as it was forced

to wake up for the day, followed by another arctic blast. I ran back into the

safety of my under-counter world and listened. Clomp clomp clomp came towards

me. I knew instantly who it was who had just entered the market. Those heavy

footsteps belonged to Olga.

Olga, who worked in the bakery and made all the tasty pastries the market sold,

arrived shortly after Suzanne every morning. She was a large woman with a

hardened face that took no guff from obnoxious customers. At first we thought

she was a wicked woman. I guess her girth gave us the wrong impression. As it

turned out, Olga was one of the kindest people I ever saw, at least to us that

is.

Olga was here from the beginning. She, alone with only Suzanne and the butcher,

could see us as easily then as she can see us now. It takes most new employees

at least a month before they can focus in on us little people. I know Lisa won't

be able to see me for a few weeks yet.

Olga was the only person in the market who ever helped any of us. In fact, she

wasn't afraid to stand up to Suzanne on our account. She even saved a couple of

us from the clutches of Suzanne. Early one morning last summer, Suzanne spied

Laughing Lenny lying in the sunlight right out in the middle of the floor. He

had evidently dozed off right out in the open and when he opened his eyes he saw

Suzanne staring down at him. She had her high-heeled pump poised above his prone

body preparing to grind Lenny into flour.

Lenny's tiny eyes locked with the giant ones a hundred feet up. Suzanne

stretched her lips into a wicked grin in an effort to show the soon to be dead

not-laughing person that she meant no mercy. She hesitated long enough to get a

frightened response from Lenny, but in doing so, she gave him time to run.

Lenny jumped to his feet screaming and ran. Suzanne missed him completely,

crushing only his shadow. Lenny sweared up to his later demise that his crushed

shadow could be seen on certain sunny days. Once up and running, Lenny began

screaming.

"Shut up you little shit," Suzanne yelled back as she stomped after him. "No one

in this store can save you now." Suzanne hadn't seen Olga enter the store and

clomp her way into the kitchen.

The pursuit continued for five minutes, Screaming Lenny zig-zagging across the

floor like a scared mouse, Yelling Suzanne trying to pounce on him like a

playful street cat. The chase was about over. Suzanne was on top of her tiring

prey who had ran out of room and was cowering against the swinging kitchen door.

Suzanne had her foot raised in the striking position again as she read Crying

Lenny his rights. "Prepare to meet your maker Little Leonard," she said as her

foot began its descent.

Once again Suzanne missed. The door behind Lenny suddenly swung backward and a

giant warm and gentle hand scooped up his shaking body. Well Lenny, as he later

told the story, thought he was dead. He thought the booming heart beat sound was

heaven calling him. He didn't know he was saved until he heard the deep voice of

Olga bellow out above him.

"What do you think you're doing," Olga demanded in her Swedish accent. "You

almost killed him."

"Of course I almost killed him," the emotional Suzanne yelled back. The chase

evidently had her charged up. The last second loss had her devastated. "Put him

back. I caught him."

According to Lenny, they threw a few nasty words back and forth. Suzanne

threatened Olga she'd have her fired. Olga threatened Suzanne she'd throw her on

the floor and stomp her. Finally Suzanne backed down and went crying into her

office. We didn't see her at all that day, not until she went home.

Olga made Lenny a treat to eat and share with the rest of us before she lectured

him and sent him on his way to tell the tale. He, along with a couple others,

later tried to contact Olga, but she ignored them. Either she decided to keep us

at a distance and only help us when our lives are in danger, or she lost her

ability to see us on a normal basis.

As Olga marched past the express aisle, I peered up until I could see her face.

She seemed to look down in my direction, but her stoic glare passed right

through me. I really didn't think she saw me.

Three minutes later, another metallic moan from the direction of the sliding

door wailed its way by me. An even colder shot of frigid air followed at much

slower speed. It was the butcher. The butcher didn't have a name; at least none

of us knew it. She too was a woman, a nasty woman. She hated us. She hated her

job and blamed us for being here. Her dream was to cut one of us in half with

her cleaver. It was rumored that the only time she smiled was when she had her

cleaver in her bloody hands thinking about our little bodies in pieces. It was a

rumor because none of us ever hung out in the cold area. Not only was it too

cold for our bird-like bodies, there wasn't one of us who wasn't scared to death

to be in there. Fortunately, the butcher area was the other direction so she

didn't pass my way.

After staring up at the foreboding stool for another half hour, a blanket of

courage fell over me covering me in a suit of armor. I decided to climb to the

seat of the stool again and have a look from its new vantage point. Nobody else

was due in for another half hour. I'd be down, my curiosity squelched, long

before that happened. If I lingered too long, the sound of the sliding door

would alarm me.

After a long look around, I felt safe enough to start my climb. Suzanne always

spent her first hour going over the supply lists, so I wasn't overly concerned

about her. The thought of Suzanne's presence never completely left any of our

minds, even at night, but for the time being I thought I was safe.

My climb two days ago gave me no trouble at all physically; we were extremely

strong and agile for our size. Today's climb was no different. I flew up the

wooden legs like I had wings, easily gripping my fingers into the course grain

of the white oak. I stopped half way smelling the outdoors aroma of the wood. I

knew at one point in my life I had experienced this same manly smell, but from a

real tree somewhere in a real forest well beyond the confines of this smelly

wretched place.

When I reached the cushion and stood to look around, I was slightly

disappointed. I wasn't high enough to see past Lisa's little area. I wasn't able

to look out over the store. I don't know what I had expected. I'd been on the

checkout counter before, many times. I knew the stool was no higher. If I wanted

to see more I had to climb to the top of the cash register. Still I felt

cheated. I had expected the cushion to be some higher plateau that, now out in

the open, would offer me a view of the world.

I got down on all fours and put my nose to the soft leather. I took a whiff. My

nose had gotten quite sufficient at picking up stray odors, but it smelled

blanks. The stool's cushion smelled brand spanking new, like it was a virgin

waiting for its first piece of ass. That also explained why the freshness of the

wooden legs struck such chord with me. The stool had never been sat on.

I sat down and leaned on my arms behind me. I imagined what Lisa's backside

would look like from this vantage point as the backs of her succulent thighs

leaned against the stool. Her rump would fill my field of vision. I let my hands

slide to my side until the softness of the cushion was against my back.

I closed my eyes and dreamt of her soft ass flesh slowly landing on me,

engulfing me in warmth. I imagined Lisa's womanly smell overpowering me. I felt

the feeling of euphoria overtake me as the most wonderful female ass I had ever

seen trapped me. I felt my manhood come to life. He too wanted part of the

feeling. I foolishly gave it to him. I pulled my pants down to my knees,

exposing my real best friend to the cold excitement of the moment. The leather

under me, though cold, felt soft and succulent to my own ass. I lied still for a

minute enjoying the feeling, knowing it must soon end.

The moment reminded me of something deep in my hidden memory; from a part of my

earlier life when I was no doubt a normal sized man. I remembered hearing the

static filled AM sounds of my local news radio station trying to wake me from a

morning slumber. I was in that la-la land, still immersed in the nights final

dream, but aware of the ever intensifying outside world. I knew I had to get up

and face my life but I was still too tired. Just a few seconds more and I'll

wake up. Just let me finish my dream.

My thoughts, while lying on the stool with my eyes closed, were similar to my

memory but different. These thoughts were in reverse. I was in the world of the

awake wanting to join the world of the sleeping. Screw Max's coffee. I wanted to

go back to sleep and dream of Lisa's backside. I probably would have had the

giant bed I was lying not moved.

It wasn't much of a jolt. The needle on the Richter scale may not even have

moved but it was enough to bring me back to my senses. I wasn't alone. Someone,

someone quite large was present. I didn't open my eyes right away. I wanted to.

I just couldn't. Not because I was still in the world of dreams. No, I was all

at once wide-awake. It was fear. I was too frightened of what I might see

lingering above me. I was afraid that if I opened my eyes, whatever or whoever

was there would see me and attack.

I slowly took a deep breath so I could re-assess the situation. I lied perfectly

still for a long thirty seconds with two of my senses peaked. Sound - I didn't

hear a thing. Feel - not even the slightest tremor. I did sense something,

something enormous and terrifying. I took a moment to ponder the question of

'why isn't gut feeling one of the five senses?'

It wasn't until the adrenaline content of my blood reached the critical level

that I slowly opened my eyes. At first, as the daylight peeked its way through

my squinting eyelashes like the morning after a bad dream, I saw nothing but air

between the lit window and myself. I felt that perhaps my imagination was

playing tricks on me. I was halfway through a premature sigh of relief when my

eyes opened enough to see I truly wasn't alone.

As my eyes focused and I saw what was hovering just behind me, I screamed. A

giant pair of female thighs was leaning against the stool just behind my head.

The attached thong clad rear end hovered over top of me. My first instinct was

to get out of their fast, so I began kicking my legs and waving my arms. Had I

been on my stomach, I might have made it. Being on my back, I didn't have a

chance.

Although it only took about a half of a second to descend on me, I was able to

see every nook and cranny of the enormous ass. As elephant sized cheeks settled

over me, entombing me in soft yielding flesh, I felt every crease and wrinkle.

As the owner of the bottom settled all her weight on the stool, forcing me

further from daylight, I felt my tiny body compress to the point of crunching. I

knew the only thing separating my face from her asshole was the thin cotton

strap of her thong.

The person sitting on the chair sat still for a few seconds giving me a chance

to comprehend the seriousness of my situation. I didn't need much time to know

my goose was probably cooked. It all depended on who was sitting on me and

whether or not that person knew I was there.

Although I wished it were, I knew the rear end that held me hostage could not

belong to Lisa. Like the owner of this ass, she always wore a similar thong but

she never came in quite this early. Besides, Lisa's ass was much rounder and

fatter than this ass. I knew. I was watching it all week. This rear end

undoubtedly belonged to Suzanne. Psycho woman had me trapped.

I was scared shitless because I knew I had a pretty good chance of dying under

Suzanne's ass. The odds of her letting me go were nil unless, of course, she

didn't know I was there. The way she sat down without wiggling her ass made me

think that might be the case. As I lied perfectly still unable to move even if I

wanted to, I prayed it was true.

We little people were able to go a couple of minutes without breathing. In fact,

we practiced at it. We all knew that being able to hold our breath for long

minutes might someday be the difference between life and death. Well that

someday was upon me and so far I was holding my own. I was counting off the

minutes, trying to concentrate on something pleasant. The thought of being under

Suzanne's ass, a person I really didn't care for, made it all the harder. I was

up to four minutes and Suzanne hadn't budged. Either she was looking at

something on Lisa's cash register, unaware of my presence, or she was trying to

smother me to death. I didn't know for sure which scenario was reality. I had a

bad feeling it was the latter.

***

part III

by willie

A minute and a half later, with my lungs on fire and my consciousness waning,

Suzanne moved. Just as quickly as she sat her ass on the stool, she lifted it

back off and stood up. Unfortunately for me, my plan of getting up and running

when and if I got the chance, wasn't working. I was so out of breath that all I

could do was lie there and gasp. My eyes shot open, temporarily, but all I saw

were stars.

I thought I did a remarkable job of recovering. After well less than a minute I

had my wind back. After not being able to focus on anything, my eyes were ready

to re-open, but I was apprehensive to grant them their wish. I was afraid of

what I might see looming over me. I might see nothing. Suzanne could be gone, my

freedom restored. Or I might see the same ass descending upon me again to

continue its torture. Worse yet, I might meet my fate face-to-face, giant eyes

to tiny eyes.

As my eyes opened again, they focused on something even more terrifying that

what I expected. What I saw hovering above me sent a shot of fear down my spine

that made its way all the way down to my testicles where it clamped its

crab-like claws around my family jewels sending them back up inside me where

they were born. The shot of fear then attacked my manhood in an erotic sort of

way causing it to salute the thing that triggered the whole process. Again I

shrieked. This time, though, I didn't try to escape. I knew escape was

impossible.

I had no more doubt about who had been sitting on me. I had been ninety five

percent sure it was Suzanne. Now I was one hundred percent sure. I also knew it

wasn't accidental. Suzanne knew exactly what she was doing and now she was going

to have some fun. It wasn't Suzanne's face or rear end I was gaping at that

assured me she was the culprit. It was her right hand. Poised over top of me,

waiting for me to make the first move, were her dangerously clawed fingers. Her

painted nails probably looked innocent enough to a big person, but to me they

looked like guillotine blades, ready to slice me into ground beef.

It was high noon at the OK Corral. Neither party was budging. Fear of Suzanne's

ominous but equally beautiful open hand had me paralyzed. I couldn't see her

face. Her fingers were all I could see. The sunlight reflected sharply off the

edges of her extended nails making them look like swords folded over and

hammered flat again dozens of times, but not a muscle on my frozen body would

flinch. I was at Suzanne's mercy. I awaited my fate.

I wasn't totally sure, but I thought the hand above moved. I didn't actually see

movement. It was more like the position of the thumb and index finger had

changed. They were closer together, like they were about to pinch something.

Suzanne's thumb and index finger weren't as close to my face as they had been

either. They had moved closer to my midsection. I tore my eyes off my offender

long enough to see their destination. Standing like a proud fool waiting to be

attacked was my stupid manhood.

I had imagined Suzanne's giant fingernails manipulating my manhood many times. I

had even had dreams, wet ones, about it, but I never imagined it ever actually

happening. Suzanne was about to grab, and probably decapitate my penis. The

Mexican Standoff was over. I shot into motion. So did Suzanne's hand.

Suzanne's hand was quicker. With lightning speed, her thumb and index finger

shot forward grabbing my manhood just under his head with her blunt nail tips.

My arms waved and my legs kicked, but her grip was painfully strong. Suzanne

began lifting me by my manhood. I screamed as my midsection rose off the stool.

I was doing most of the work as she pulled on my penis. I didn't want her to

pull it clean off.

I soon got to the point where I couldn't raise myself any higher. Only my feet

and hands were still touching the stool. My back was arched drastically but

Suzanne did not stop lifting her pinching fingers. I felt the pain intensify as

Suzanne's nails dug deeper and my manhood began to stretch.

My balls were the next part of my anatomy that burst into flames of pain as the

weight on my hands and feet lightened. Suzanne was actually lifting me off the

stool by my penis. As I slowly moved upward, I stole a glance at my poor penis.

His swollen head, above Suzanne's fingernails, was dark red. The rest of my

manhood was thin as a wire and four times its normal length. I gawked in

disbelief that it was still in one piece for a few seconds before letting my

head fall back down.

I felt like I was going to puke so I shut my eyes until my ascent slowed to a

stop. When I opened them again, I found myself staring at Suzanne's massive

mouth. She was dangling me before her face. My head was up side down. So was my

view of her smiling lips.

Suzanne then moved me closer to her lips until my face actually touched them. I

smelled the mocha blend she just drank. She moved her head from side to side,

rubbing my face across her smooth soft lips. By the time my face moved back to

the center and I could feel the warm breath coming out of her nose on my chest,

her soft smile had changed into a pucker.

The pucker began to loosen and envelope more of my face. I felt moisture on my

cheeks as my face moved between the smooth upper lip and massive lower lip of

the woman I had feared and tried to avoid for years.

As Suzanne sucked on my face, gyrating her moistening lips around my head and

forcing her saliva up my nose, I noticed the pain in my midsection was

decreasing. At first I feared that my penis had snapped and the entire area was

growing numb. I knew that wasn't the case because my body was still arched

backwards. The more Suzanne sucked on me, the further from that pain I went.

Suzanne was feeding off my pain; steeling it from my spinal chord before it was

able to manifest itself in my brain.

I don't know how long my face was subjected to Suzanne's hungry lips, but it

felt like close to forever. I was in la-la-land the entire time. The void that

existed from the stolen pain was filled with euphoria. I went with the feeling

and enjoyed the full facial massage while it lasted. A voice deep inside my

brain, from some distant section that was still functioning properly, was trying

to tell me it would end soon. And it did. Suzanne's satisfied lips released

their hold on my head.

All at once a shot of excruciating pain mixed with pure terror burst into my

brain like the boogieman busting through a child's closet door. It exploded into

such colors of orange and red that my retinas burned from the inside. I was

overcome by emotion. The remembrance that I was the captive of the queen herself

and my torture had already painfully begun filled me with panic. All my

childhood fears surfaced and joined forces in their internal attack of my mind's

sensitive receptors. I felt my heart jolted to life, beyond life, stretching my

arteries like overfilled balloons. My arms and legs began to twitch

uncontrollably. I felt my bowels let loose and a burning in my chest as an

eruption occurred simultaneously from other end. I felt another bolt shoot up my

spine as my manhood snapped. Then I felt freefall followed by impact and a

sudden stop. I was conscious long enough to curl myself up into a little ball

before falling off the face of the Earth into the darkness beyond.

I opened my eyes to the view of two giant white ass cheeks moving to and fro as

they worked against each other. A thin strap of teal colored cotton separated

them, here and there. Some lengths of stretched material were buried from view

by the cheeks they were trying to separate. The pain in my waking manhood was

trying to bring me to my senses.

I knew whose ass it was performing majestically before my awake yet spellbound

eyes; barely covered by the ultra short skirt its owner proudly wore. I

recognized the gracefulness of its curves, the beauty of its size. It was the

ass I had been gawking over all week.

I lied perfectly still, knowing exactly where I was, never taking my eyes off

the moving masses before me. I knew I was naked. The cold biting into my chest

told me that. I remembered my encounter with Suzanne; how she sat on me then

lifted me up by my manhood. It hadn't actually torn in two like I originally

thought. It just felt like it had as it snapped back to size like a rubber band.

At first I didn't know why Suzanne let me go without killing me. It wasn't in

her to show mercy. No one she ever captured in the past ever lived to tell about

it. Maybe I'd be the first. Despite the view, I figured it was time to get off

that stool and retreat back to my hole in the wall. I tried to move.

I first tried to bend my knees in an effort to squirm backwards, but they

weren't able to rise above the surface of the stool. My ankles were tied to the

material. I then tried to lift my arms, but they too were bound to the stool.

Lastly I made an attempt to sit up but that was no good either. Stitching around

my neck completed my bondage.

I tried desperately to kick my legs free, but Suzanne had sewed them down

securely. I attempted to pull my hands through the stitching that had them

secured but the thin cotton twine was too tight. The thread across my Adam's

apple wasn't overly tight, but any attempt to break it ended in pain. Again I

was trapped. It looked like I was to spend the day naked, cold, and staring at

Lisa's perfect round rump.

When my kidneys had sufficiently filtered the remains of my last surge of

adrenaline, I was able to assess my situation. First off, I was cold. As a

result of that, I would soon be hungry. That I might survive, depending on how

long it would take me to free myself.

Secondly there was the magnificent but equally ominous ass flaunting its deadly

presence in front of me. It wasn't real likely that Lisa would sit down, not on

her own anyway. She had shown no signs at all of wanting to take a load off thus

far. In fact, she probably wouldn't show any signs all day. That is unless she

was coerced into doing so. That led to problem number three.

I knew how the mind of Suzanne worked. She wasn't about to just leave me there

to escape or starve to death. She had other plans. I wasn't exactly sure what

they were. I knew I'd soon find out.

After about an hour of being half scared out of my mind and unable to pull my

sobbing eyes off my potential demise, I heard Suzanne's treacherous voice. My

heart switched gears sending a shot of warmth through my chest. The warmth

wasn't helping my numbing extremities.

"Hi Lisa. You look kind of busy. Do you mind if I bag for awhile?"

"That would be wonderful," Lisa answered in the soft innocent voice she spoke to

her boss with. "We seem awfully busy this morning."

"That's because the weather people are calling for more snow today. It's only

going to be a dusting, but you know how these older people over-react."

"Tell me about it," Lisa sighed. The two went on to chat casually. I listened

intently. Lisa rang up three more customers then asked her boss something that

seemed odd.

"When can I wear something warmer? These cold mornings are murder on my legs."

"Oh I'm sorry," Suzanne answered. "My experiment is over. You can wear whatever

you like tomorrow."

"Was the experiment a success?" Lisa asked.

"Indeed it was," Suzanne answered. She then chuckled sending a shiver up my

spine. When the shiver hit my brain it popped into a short sharp fit of rage.

The bitch set me up. She played me like a fool, baiting me with Lisa and her

sensuous rear end. I stupidly took the bait: hook, line, and sinker.

"So why don't you ever sit down?" Suzanne asked her favorite employee, turning

my rage back into terror. It wasn't much of a switch. The two emotions are

siblings.

"I don't need to sit down," Lisa answered stubbornly.

"But that's what the stool is for. All the checkers have one. OSHA requires it."

What a bitch. Suzanne was trying to talk Lisa into sitting on the stool.

"I'm fine", Lisa argued. "I don't need to sit, really."

"Why don't you just try it," Suzanne went on. She was on a mission.

Then I heard a different voice. "Yo Peppy." It was Pete. That's what he calls

me. "I came to rescue you."

"I'd rather stand," Lisa argued back as Pete's form came into view behind my

head.

"You saved me yesterday," Pete said not knowing what was happening above. "I'm

here to return the favor."

"The OSHA representative is visiting us this morning," Suzanne protested in a

much firmer voice. "I want you to sit, NOW"

"OK," Lisa finally said with a huff. Her ass moved over top of me.

"Run Pete," I yelled. Pete took the hint as the twin cheeks cast a shadow over

us. He made a quick left and in a matter of two seconds he was over the edge of

the stool. Unfortunately for Pete he dove in the direction of Suzanne.

"Oh shit,"

A day in the market  part I by willie   We basked in the first rays of warm filtered sunlight shining in through the plate glass

MORE ABOUT A day in the market  part I by willie   We basked in the first rays of warm filtered sunlight shining in through the plate glass