Four: A World At Her Feet
Should she address her worshippers? She wasn’t quite clear if the tiny beings could even make out what she said. Her voice was a low, echoing, booming thunder role. She knew her faintest whisper could actually knock down skyscrapers. The thought made her tingle. She rocked back left and right on her feet, rubbing her legs together.
It was all she could do to walk to the city…Andropolis, wasn’t it? She had such a primal need to dominate the little city and it’s people, to feel it yield to her flesh, to her will, to her whim. It existed solely because she allowed it… for now.
She wanted to run with leaping bounds, but then she might encounter a pile of dust instead of majestic, almost-toe-tall skyscrapers. Also, not very seductive. Not very lady-like. Not, conduct befitting a goddess.
Goddess. That’s what she was. This tiny city she towered over was a manifestation of how she really felt…hell, she should be taller. That city should be the size of her toe.
Her catwalk-style of getting to the city was excruciatingly slow for her, even though she was probably going hundreds of miles per hour.
She wanted to tell the tiny city, “You’re mine now. I own you. You are my toys, my worshippers, my servants, my slaves, my snacks, and you will all be my sacrifices.” She wanted to say that, but as she pondered before, she didn’t think they’d understand her.
And she did not become one of the most powerful executives in the world through talk.
She bit her lip and exhaled. The tiny people were almost 50 miles below her, or her hot exhale would have killed thousands. She raised her stocking-clad heel from her pump and gently lowered her toes right up to the edge of the downtown area.
Heaven. If she was a goddess, this was her heaven. Her feet were sweaty and hot cooped up in the sexy, leather prison of her shoes. Her feet were large, even at her regular Amazonian stature, something she had been shy about at a younger age, but she knew her feet were sexy, perfectly pedicured, and one of her best features in a collection of amazing features.
Truth be told, she preferred to show off her gorgeous feet with peep toes, or sandal. But when it was time to humiliate her little toy cities, she liked to coop her foot up in a pump to make her foot extra hot, extra sweaty, extra smelly. Her foot odor alone converted normal sized men and women into devout foot fetishists. To these tiny worshippers, her stinky feet became their world, the very air they breathed and lived on. She experimented with what could make her feet the sweatiest: pumps and bare foot, boots and a bare foot, even right after an hour on the treadmill…that day her post-exercise feet almost made her have trouble breathing…her little city died just from her smell. She found stockings and pumps made her amazon feet about perfect for her.
Without delay, she removed her other foot. This stocking, she noticed, had a tiny hole in the toe. Oh well, she soon would be taking them off and disposing of them anyway.
She inhaled sharply, taking in the smell of her own foot. Leather, her feminine sweat, and the expensive lotion she used drifted up to her nostrils. It had been a long day, and her feet were so hot and sweaty, and smelled more than usual.
As she felt her feet settle into the soft ground below her, obliterating more suburbs, she saw a phenomenon she was used to, but never got tired of.
The air in the city had been cool, and almost devoid of humidity. The same could not be said for the air surrounding her feet. The heat inside her shoe had approached 100 degrees F, and the humidity was approaching 100%. The foot odor-laden heat wave clashed with the air in the little city and a storm front materialized immediately. Her view of the city was temporarily obstructed as the clouds formed…her toes sat there almost touching the skyscrapers on the outer edge of the city, and the big one towered over them more than twice as high. They wiggled very slightly, raising up miles in the air, and coming down gently. She caused more tiny tremors, but wafted the storm front into even more fierceness. Her stocking sheathed toes were a never-ending engine of heat and humidity.
About now, it should start raining, she though. She couldn’t see it, but it was about time. Good thing she thought her own foot odor was sexy, and that she liked when her toes were a bit sweaty. She could really smell them now.
That meant so, too, could those tiny dust mites. And she knew that the rain that was falling was none other than her foot sweat. The vapor of her feet hit the cool air and saturated the sky more than it could possibly hope to hold.
She would have them as sacrifices. They would all be hers to crush, and eat, and fuck. But first, she would humiliate them. Baptizing them in Her foot sweat was a delicious start.
She closed her eyes and imagined what was going on under the ankle-high clouds. Confusion, chaos, and revulsion. Some saw her divine sweat as punishment, some as reward. Many were discovering latent foot fetishes, of that, she had no doubt. The utter control she had over them without even doing anything made her pussy start to wet. Her whim was their world. Look at the chaos her toe wiggles caused. She had, no doubt, crushed a few hundred or thousand people, but she changed their weather. That was power no mad dictator and few gods of mythology could hope to accomplish.
She could easily shoo away the clouds with a wave of her foot, but she wanted to soak the city in her foot sweat. Probably not enough to drown anyone, but they were all wet down there. She carefully stepped back to look down at the cloud-covered city again.
She looked at the rest of the room and noticed it was a pretty good haul. Not only had she gotten Andropolis, but there were some pretty big cities near-by too.
Diane took another soft step, feeling the ground under her feet. It was so sensual, like a good foot massage. The ground tried to splay up through her toes, and almost touched her arch, but her stockings prevented that. She felt those sweaty, stockings that she loved hugging her legs and feet so well, dry off a bit as she rubbed her feet on the tiny landscape.
Out of the corner of her massive eye, she spotted movement below. The little freeway—it had to be almost a 10 lane affair—filled with frenzied motorists trying to flee from under the tiny, churning clouds.
“Flea” she thought. “That’s what you all are! And I want you to stay right where you are in your little, sexy city.”
Diane started walking slowly around the city, to make a moat. Her first step knocked one of her pumps over and it helped chase some of the clouds away over the city, but added even more to the odor of her feet and leather that was now their only source of air. They looked into the towering insole of her shoe, that rose above the clouds and imagined the torture that it must be to occupy that insole with her all-powerful foot. Some could even see the dirty patches under where her toes had worn. The big toe print was over a square mile.
Diane walked, creating a “moat to contain the motes.” From her perspective it looked like a soft footprint, but in reality her curvy foot tortured the ground under it, leaving a compressed, hundred-foot-deep chasm with slick sweaty sides.
Every step she took, every building turned into powder, every tiny life that She crushed made Her hornier. And every step she delayed planting right down in the middle of the city made her hornier still! Her panties were sopping wet at this point.
As she was about half-way around the city, she noticed a large, grey patch on the ground that was a college town with several large dorm structures and sprawling lecture halls.
She paused, and pivoted on her heels. There was barely enough room between Andropolis and this unnamed, far-smaller city for the length of her foot. She regarded the tiny college town. She tucked her magnifying glass in her cleavage and lifted her skirt slowly.
It rose miles and miles, revealing the top of her stockings and then her wet, black thong. She shifted on her feet slightly…still a seismic event to those below. Her toes wiggled in anticipation, stretching the fabric of her sheer stockings like phantoms in another dimension trying to break into ours. She hooked her long, perfectly manicured, red nails into the waistband string of her thong. She ever-so-slowly pulled down the left side, exposing her pussy, miles above in the air. Then she pulled down the right, undulating her hips to help the silk slide, and because she knew how to move her body to seduce.
Her wet panties slid down her sinewy, thighs that were in the double digits in miles long. She rotated slightly so her feet made a little stepping circle, and her ass was eventually hanging over the smaller town, whatever it was. If she sat down, or lost her footing, the town would disappear under her perfect ass, but she was agile and her ass would claim sacrifices soon enough.
The ground under Her feet smashed farther and farther into berdrock, as she twirled. She picked up her left foot and spread it far to the side, crushing yet more new ground and people. Then she picked her right foot and spread it far to the side. She was far from doing the splits, but her long legs were in a wide v shape with her skirt up around her hips. Her pussy was glistening and her lips were swollen for millions to see.
She gyrated her perfect ass over the city a few more times as she moved her feet back together and let her skirt slide back down. At her eye level, this would be enough to hide her pussy, but the for many of her tiny sacrifices, her pussy still dominated their sky.
She looked over her shoulder, barely noticing the little town as she dropped the tiny, lacy, soaked panties on it, covering it. The panties fell in slow motion, it seemed. It took forever. They looked tiny in the sky, but got bigger slowly. Just when they filled the sky, they stretched from horizon to horizon. Three quarters of the whole town vanished under the incalculable weight of her smallest article of clothing.
A few hundred survived in an empty space left by a leg band, and the panties bunched in such a way that a wrinkle or two of the crotch hovered in the air a few thousand feet. Those under the wrinkle could smell her sex all around them. And before they could look up at the new sky that was their lacy prison that let the sun shine through in sensual patterns made by the lace—
Tiny drops of her juices hit the ground. Where the foot odor had caused a driving, torrential rain, few got hurt.
Her pussy nectar, however, fell in drops as big as houses.
The foot-rain caused a minor flood here or there, nothing people couldn’t wade through. The pussy juice that fell from the sky, however, crushed people…then slowly rolled out in a tidal wave that caught fleeing crowds and held them in the viscous liquid. It drowned the little people slowly, their mouths filling with her nectar, and then eventually crushed them under the tremendous weight.
A raucous, capacity crowd filled a stadium in the heart of the college campus. The drunken rowdy noisy crowd were among the last to know of Diane’s presence. She loomed over them in the distance, but seemed deceptively far away. Eventually, even they realized they should flee, but thousands of people have trouble moving out of a stadium all at once. Only about a tenth were out as they saw her ass fill the sky. The distance distorted perception, and they couldn’t tell that their grand stadium could fit easily in her ass. As they pondered it, transfixed, her panties then filled the sky. When they hit, fortune smiled on the little sports-fans. They were spared under a wrinkle of her panites that loomed overhead. But the relief was short lived as a drop of the goddess’s pussy juice fell squarely on them. It crashed into the stadium and shook the ground. It almost leveled it, but the structure was just barely strong enough to contain the drop. All were killed immediately as the pussy juice flooded through the exits the people were trying to escape through, and drowned them. As the drop continued to fall, it filled the stadium, eventually spilling over the top. The entire structure buckled under her juice but held fast as the nectar encased it.
Diane continued to walk around Andropolis, feeling the earth squish under her toes, and feeling the cool breeze on her newly exposed pussy. Almost done, and it looked like the rain was letting up soon.
The insignificant citizens stood in awe. They fled (though to where, no one could say). They passed out. Some, in true Lovecraftian fashion, went mad. Many found themselves aroused. Many found themselves ashamed. But, with the exception of coma patients, no one in Andropolis could look away from the monstrous, gargantuan, pumps that defied logic, physics, and the boundaries of sanity itself.
Time stood still as the behemoth, arrogant beauty’s shoes towered over their city, over their very lives. All doubt that she now saw them down there in the dust at her feet was erased. Many scholars maintain the last thing we should do is make ourselves known to far superior extraterrestrials, and that thought was going through many of the heads of the more rational dust mites in the city right now.
Blissful anonymity, being dust on the floor of this goddess, may have been preferable. She may have walked by, caused massive devestation, but not made it a mission to play with them as a cat with a mouse. Hell, a mouse on her scale would be a giant monster, taller than all their buildings.
Now that they had Her attention, what would she do with it? And in fact, was she always aware of them? She always had the control. The thought she stumbled upon them seemed more and more absurd, but certainly not the most absurd prospect of their current situation. If she were unaware of them, the collateral damage would be epic, but now that she knew they were down there, her’s to play with…What now?
In answer to their silent question, one of her feet twisted, torturing a few square miles of earth. To her, a subtle motion she could not have noticed, but to them, a world-changing, landscape-forming event. The tiny twist was but the start. Her heel popped out of her pump.
The tiny people, even with skyscrapers blocking their views, saw her heel rise into the sky.
First: They saw the visual of her black stocking-clad heel rise, every inch to her almost a mile to them. They also saw the supple leather of her pump wrinkle in sand-dune sized waves then relax. Her megalithic toes moved under her pump’s front like beautiful demons waiting to unleash on the earth.
Second: The audio took a while to reach them, but then a sonic boom rattled them and their little city. A sucking sound followed as her damp foot pulled out of the leather pump. Then the deafening creak of leather flooded over them.
Third: The heat, the air, the smell rushed at them like a marauding spirit, hungry to consume their city. The cool, humidity-free air was conquered by the air surrounding her foot, formerly trapped in her shoe. They smelled expensive leather, perfume, lotion, and the sensual aroma of her sweaty foot itself. And it intensified by the second.
This titanic foot then lifted out of her shoe the rest of the way. It hovered there for a while as her long toes flexed and stretched the stocking’s black, silky fabric.
She sighed far above them. The sound rumbled the city. They looked up unable to see her mouth, nor the relaxed, gleeful expression. Their focus was back to their sky, and what they could see:
Her toes seemed like long, behemoth monsters with a mind of their own as they wiggled, enjoying the new-found freedom. None of the tiny citizens could ever hope to contain these monsters. Only She could, and she did it casually, incidentally, without thought most of the time. Her whim, her reflex. She caged those toes in her stocking, the bars of which were delicate strands wider than many of their streets—not fishnets, but tiny, silky strands a goddess on her scale couldn’t see. And to make sure the beasts were subdued even more, she put them in the leather prison with walls thicker than most homes. And she would release these toes, like the gods of old would release the Kraken, to take their toll on humanity. And she chose to release them now.
With a nimbleness that belied their massive size, her toes sat down right next to a few dozen skyscrapers, and on countless outlying structures and people. Her big toe almost touched the nearest one. An old bank built in the city only a decade ago pitched toward her toe as she let her foot sink into the soft ground. The sparkling glass of the mighty edifice fogged up as the heat from her foot, especially between her toes rushed headlong into the city with a vengeance.
Where as the stiletto heel looked like a giant, fetishized doomsday machine, her foot was soft and curvy, feminine. Despite the femininity, Her foot was big, even on her scale. More so, her foot was lanky, with long toes, narrow sole, relatively speaking, and an incredibly high arch. Her soft, perfect foot looked like it would be kinder to the small city than the angular, hard shoe, but the damage was much worse.
If this goddess were a puny 50 feet tall—her polish on her toes was thicker than that—it may hurt more to be stepped on with the unyielding sole and sword-like heel of her pump. Her foot’s sole would softly envelop you, hurt, crush some bones, but maybe a sturdy person could survive, especially if vital organs slipped between toes or under her arch.
Her massive foot didn’t have the negative space of her pump between sole and heel. Admittedly, the land in this negative space of her pump was wracked by tremors and gale winds, but there were survivors. Now that she took her shoe off, her soft sole more than doubled the surface area she contacted with. The relative soft, yielding quality of her skin made no difference at this scale. Some survivors had brief hope as they looked up at her wrinkly arch thousands of feet above, but it sank slowly to crush then out too as it settled into the soft ground like the earth was wet sand.
The process repeated with her other foot. This time she freed her foot more quickly from her prison, and subsequently the tremors hit harder. She lightly dragged her toes’ tips on the ground by the city, knocking out an industrial park.
Another storm front of hot, foot-odor-laden air rushed in as many of the tiny citizens saw her red toenail polish through her stretching, wiggling hose. Those nails got bigger, it seemed, as she dragged her toes closer. They could also see the miniscule, thousand-foot wide rip in her stocking that revealed some of her actual divine flesh. The small patch of skin glistened with her light, several-yard thick sweat. He toe prints caught light, and filled with shadow and appeared thick enough to engulf houses.
Right when her toes got up to the edge of another part of the downtown skyscraper cluster, they rested on the ground, and the remainder of her lanky foot followed. Such a gentle act, but she still caused more earthquakes.
Business people tried to flee the side of the skyscraper closest to her foot, but were unable to move as they fell and flopped around because of the tremors. She scrunched her toes again so the red toenails faced them. They witnessed the advancing toenails rip through a mall at about 80 miles per hour. Debris flew; crowds tried to flee but were crushed immediately.
Finally the toes settled, and the nails rose into the sky out of view far overhead, as her flesh faced them once again. The people on the lower ¾ of the building saw her big toe rest right on the edge of the sprawling parking lot across the highway that stood sill with rush-hour traffic. The area lay in shadow of her black stockings, under the curve of her toe.
Many sighed in relief that the jammed parking lot and highway loop were spared, but as her toes settled, they splayed. And sank into the ground. Without even moving, her toe flattened under her fantastic weight, and stretched the stockings as they slowly rolled over the parking lot…then the highway…
As her stockings stretched, the holes in the tiny weave became wide enough to engulf cars and people. Most were outright smashed under the cable-like strands or hundreds of tons of toe flesh. Some, however, sucked up into the holes between her stocking strands and miraculously found themselves spared, if not partially crushed, in her toe prints that loomed overhead like caverns. More still sucked up between her toes as if a tornado grabbed them, through her stockings in the furnace-like heat of that negative space that towered over them some thousands of feet. Hundreds of survivors in various states of being crushed along with many dozens of vehicles stuck to her toes like dust, or rested right on the inside of her stockings between her toes. The light barely got in. Many passed out from the heat. Her smell was all around them, dominating them, ruling them.
She picked up even more dust mote people in her stockings, sticking them to her flesh in a layer of sweat, dozens of feet thick in places. Some drowned in the small pools of sweat stuck in her toe prints. Over a hundred between her toes looked up as they heard a sound like an ocean crashing. The light shimmered and bent 2500 feet up as they saw a drop of sweat bead up in the crevice of her toe. It hung there for a minute, growing, quivering. Oily rainbows coruscated on the surface of the drop. The sweltering heat that had already claimed some to heatstroke made the sweat drop almost look refreshing. Then it started crashing toward the tiny people as they clung to the wet stocking between her toes. The surface started pristine and spherical, but as it gained momentum, it ripped, and white caps distorted the blob. It fell quickly, but seemed slow motion. So hard to gain perspective. It splashed down on dozens of survivors farther back in the toe prison. 180 feet of toe sweat then galloped and rolled toward the survivors. They attempted to flee on the sticky, strands of the ropes of her stocking as even more people were being pushed up through the strands. The death toll in her stocking numbered in the hundreds under the drop of sweat. Some crushed, some torn asunder, some drowned. All humiliated sacrifices to her.
Her toe’s tip advanced on the skyscraper. Her toes appeared to be shorter than the skyscraper, but as it drew nearer, the reality dawned on them, that they were about half as tall…maybe. The glass fogged, blocking the world outside, as her sultry foot emanated heat. Outside they could hear wrenching of metal, concrete collapsing and screams, both rising in a cacophony, and cutting short immediately in tremendous ripping and crushing noises.
The fog on the windows grew thicker as her toes rested right outside the glass, almost as if she were playing a gentle, teasing game with them.
In the heart of the city, the people frantically craned their necks between the feet at the edge of the skyscraper district, and her face looming above with a dominant, beautiful grin. Many could see up her skirt, though it almost fell to shadow before their vision could even reach the garters on her thighs. Her breasts looked like they would fall out of her low cut top, and surly crush the little metropolis.
As the tiny people tried to breath, all of their air was replaced by the air inside her shoe, wafting off her foot with even more force than before. They could feel her foot sweat accumulating on them, and her face above seemed to fade as clouds formed over them.
Their hair and clothes blew in the hot wind as they heard the first thunder crack rip through the sky. Her face and everything above her ankle all but vanished in the roiling, humid storm that formed overhead.
Rain fell from the sky with a vengeance. Many of the citizens thought the rain was some sort of magic spell she cast on them. It would not have been the most absurd notion that thrust itself into their reality within the last few minutes. The drops seemed different somehow to the insignificant population. The beads that formed were bigger, somehow shinier, and maybe oilier.
Inevitably, the tiny people tasted the rain, some by accident as if the rain found its way in their mouths by a will of its own. Some tasted the drops on purpose.
The foot fetishists in the crowd immediately knew what this new rain was, and it was all too obvious in retrospect. The most supremely divine foot they had ever had the honorific pleasure to be in the presence of, baptized them in its sweat that fell like rain. The sweat drops invaded every square inch of exposed skin, and soaked their clothes. None of them had rain gear on this warm, clear day. Well-coiffed hair fell in sultry strands as it soaked up the goddess’s foot sweat rain.
Puddles started to form. Lower-lying areas began to flood. Cars had trouble moving in some of the streets that were in valleys. Gutters filled to the brim. Basements filled. Many of the cars had windows or convertible tops down, and Her foot sweat soaked and ruined upholstery. The grassy ground under the feet of the thousands of citizens at the music festival got more and more muddy. It got impossible to hold their footing. The crowd panicked with nowhere to go, and trampled many fellow members.
The water supply had been low in the dry weather—nothing to worry about, but it was about ¼ capacity before the fall rains came and filled it back up. The drinking water now was becoming more and more of her salty, oily foot sweat. Her new subjects had no choice but to drink it, bather in it, wash their clothes in it. The concentration became more and more hot, pungent goddess sweat and less and less cool, clear water.
The rain continued to inundate their little world. Lightning crashed into the little city. One bolt nailed a tall apartment building. Bricks crumbled off the façade and struck milling, fleeing speck-sized people.
Windshield wipers furiously tried to wipe the rain away, but it seemed to stick to the glass. Many motorists tried to run the air conditioning to stave off the new, oppressive wave of heat from her feet. The vent blasted the smell of her divine feet right in their faces, as the odor had completely supplanted all air in the city. The motorists sat in their cars, many sitting in sweat-soaked seats as they had not had time to roll their windows up with the sudden weather change. Every motorist had a single, heard-mentality thought echoing in their brains: Flee the city!
This thought, of course, resulted in almost no one moving. They moved toward the edge of the skyscraper infested ant hill they called home, and attempted to get from under the localized cloud that served as a physical manifestation of her rule over them. They could see her stocking covered ankles between the peaks of the skyscrapers and the low clouds, maybe a glimpse of the underside of her toe as she picked them up and flexed them, maybe a flash of bright red toenail as she scrunched her toes…and behind that: sunlight. Like good little bugs, they were drawn to the light. Focused on the bright salvation.
A thunder clap much louder than the others woke them from their fixation, as if they were punished for daring to obsess over anything but their new owner.
But this was not thunder. The goddess began walking around the city, slowly, languidly, almost daintily. The tremors and destruction did not care how gingerly, how lightly she stepped. The city still shook like a monolithic event was occurring: her simple steps. Her foot falls were trivial, incidental, inconsequential to her (if not slightly pleasurable foreplay before the main event). An after thought. Not really a thought at all. She needed a place to step, to feel the soft ground yield to her hot sole. This action was automatic.
The storm cloud began to swirl slowly, affected by her saunter around the city’s outskirts. Two and a half miles of an eight-lane highway fell in the shadow of her foot. Debris from previous steps that had stuck to the outside of her stocking, and some that had slid into the holes in the weave of her stocking rained down. Rocks, busses, trees, and people, hundreds of people fell. Some were still fairly in tact, some already crushed into red masses. The vehicles fell in a range of states as well. Some almost entirely intact with screaming people inside, some all but flattened into a two-dimensional sheet.
The smell and the heat got incredibly intense under the shadow of her foot on the little roadway. Wind picked cars up and whirled them around. Then the stocking enveloped ball of her foot came down in the distance. Her toes splayed above and slowly came down on the other side of the road. The highway might have been spared under the massive space between her toes and the ball of her foot, but the stocking came down upon them like death itself. The fine strands crushed most of the vehicles outright. The threads, almost imperceptible at her scale, were columns of coiling, slick, wet, black crushing force, over 50 foot thick. Once again, many “lucky” survivors found themselves in the holes in the fine weave, only to be spared—for the monet—under toe prints, mired in sweat, or in an even hotter confine between her massive toes. The populating in her stockings, an ever-changing number, started rivaling that of entire towns or villages.
And she picked up settlers in a new area.
Her foot sunk into the soft earth in a way that made her arch touch the ground. Her arch was so delicately sculpted, and high, not to mention wrinkly as she flexed her foot, that there were several square miles of her sole that her stocking did not flex flatly on. The heat did not come to a head, nor did sweat accumulate as severely as around the toes, but it was still an extreme of inertia, and flexing, moving, sticky flesh, and collisions with other survivors, and the smell…the smell totally dominated them here too. If these once-proud humans at the top of the food chain had not been reduced to panicky bugs, they would have found the spirituality in complete submission to Her. But as it stood, they had only space for two thoughts:
I want to survive.
I know I will not.
So many lives had been claimed, or changed forever. History had been completely re-written for so many. And that was merely the first step she took around the little city.
Many survivors were crushed who had previously found salvation stuck to her goddess skin in wrinkles, and in curves as her foot that was their new world splayed more and compressed more as it was the only tie between her and the tiny realm, the only thing bearing her weight, as she lifted her other foot.
The pilots in the Airbus A380 went through the flight check. They took the job seriously, but there was a small amount of ennui that snuck into their routine on the clear day. These things damn near flew themselves.
The pilots, as well as the almost 800 passengers, felt the first tremors and thought it odd. The tremors got worse and the crew hastened through the check to get off the shaking ground.
“Tower, we clear?” the copilot asked over the radio.
Little did they know, the tower was busy coping with the loss of another large craft on Diane’s shin, and countless other impossible reports.
The tremors increased and the craft rocked on its tiny wheels. The pilots looked at each other in bafflement as they tried to contact the tower again.
As the craft rocked even more wildly, the pilots realized it was not a matter of staying on schedule, but maybe surviving as they feared the ground may open up to swallow their buffeted craft.
They had no idea what was causing the tremors, but made the decision to get airborne.
Darkness fell over them as storm clouds rolled in.
It was now or never.
The plane started taxiing down the runway as the world seemed to go mad around them. The crew bounced around the cabin in a flurry of activity for pre-flight check, and before they were even most of the way done, they punched it.
The clouds got incredibly thick as the plane started barrel-assing down the tarmac. It had to reach 170 mph before it could start to think about getting off the ground with the largest jet in the world, and a full compliment of passengers.
Sparks flew as a wing hit the ground on the plane’s haul down the runway. The captain pulled on the yoke to compensate and they picked up momentum. The passengers held on for dear life as the huge craft lurched on the listing ground.
The plane bounced in the air with a tremor, caught flight for a brief moment, and slammed back into the ground. The crew recovered and did what they could to right the plane. The captain pulled up on the yoke as hard as he could and the plane rose into the air triumphantly, if shakily. The seismic doom of the ground fell behind the craft.
The captain sighed with relief as the rest of the crew turned on all manner of lights as they entered the clouds. The captain paid close attention to the radar and radioed any other craft in the area that he took off without advisement of the tower in order to try to escape disaster.
Turbulence hit the craft as it plunged into the clouds. This was like no other cloud they had seen. Thick, impenetrable, hot, and sticky. The windshield wipers could not scrape the moisture off very effectively. Beads of rain ran down the fuselage and clung, weighing it down. Pilot nor passenger could see anyting out of the window. They became aware of more turbulence, but the pilot deftly compensated.
If the radar was to be trusted, the craft should poke out of the clouds soon. As the pilot thought this, the craft did poke out into the sun. The crew cheered!
Just then Diane’s foot lifted and unknowingly hovered over the tiny jet. Their world once again became dark. They had not seen Diane approach from the other side of the city. Diane certainly had not seen the 250 foot long plane that registered as not even 1/10 of an inch to her.
Diane’s heel settled on the ground first as the ball of her foot hovered over them. The plane was booking at over 200 mph now, and Diane’s foot was narrow at 13,000 feet wide, not to mention she stepped leisurely, not in any rush.
They may just make it! They saw light under the incomprehensible sole. But the sole got closer to them, and the air became turbulent again as the toes wiggled and flexed, displacing massive amounts of air.
Gently, her foot descended, and the upper arch caught them! The strands of her stocking snagged them first, but the downward momentum of the foot, pressed them mercilessly thousands of feet down until the plane smashed between the sole and the ground. The passengers had little time to ponder their fate as the foot claimed them. Some saw all the way down to the heel, which was still on the ground, as her arch rose above them. The sight made no sense, but it was still, indeed, their last.
When Diane picked her foot back up, the plane was smashed and caught in her stocking’s moist fabric like an incredibly tiny, crushed gnat.
She loved imagining the idea of the general chaos below her, but it was almost time to see it for herself. But first, she needed to get rid of the rest of her clothes.