this is a macro/micro kink blog! i will post about noncon & other potentially sensitive subjects! please clarify that you are 18+ if you interact with this blog!!!!
words of affirmation are what fuel me lol, please feel free to pester (comment, message, ask, etc) always welcome :)
there's a scene in the odyssey where the achaeans realize the giant cyclops can speak and one of them asks why he hadn't spoken to them when they were trapped in the cave and odysseus turns to him and asks "do you talk to ants?" THAT WAS HOTTTT SORRY
1.7k words
CW: cruel, dehumanized tiny, brief mentions of extreme cruelty but nothing in detail
Music sensation Seren Fairchild struggles to get the perfect audio sample for his upcoming album.
“Least I got some wiggle room, eh?” Seren questioned, peering down at his chest, where a small shape that used to be a person sat bound by its arms by gold chain, spread eagle as it was held aloft by the necklace Seren wore.
“Got more than you, at least. We feeling more cooperative yet?”
Seren did his best to be subtle about boosting the sensitivity of his recording microphone in front of him, but the little thing was stubborn and, annoyingly, very perceptive. Two tiny eyes in a pea-sized face glared up at him with enough electric, spiteful vitriol that it could have powered most of the coast if it wasn’t coming from someone the size of a triple-A battery.
Not a peep out of it still. What a shame. It had a lovely voice, hence why it was here in the first place…
Well that, and it was threatening to overtake him in the charts. Couldn’t have that.
Damn just look at you stuffed full on my pinkie, barely hanging on. You’re fucking shaking and I haven’t even moved. When I lift my hand, gravity drags you down with it, your tiny body sliding, stretching, clinging tighter. I can feel every twitch, every flutter, as you squeeze around me like the perfect little finger glove you are. So warm and wet and desperate, squirming just from the shift of my wrist. I flex just to feel you jolt. You’re not going anywhere. Not until I’m done wearing you. You make the best fucking finger warmer. I could keep you on like this all day while I work, while I eat, while I watch tv. Just watching uou squirm and moan and unable to free yourself
'He was dependent on the human. He needed him. He couldn’t do it without him. Well… He could, he had done it before. But he kept coming back, unable to stay away. He felt the ever-familiar guilt wash over him.'
'He was a failure to his kind. Everything he’d ever been taught, he was disobeying it all. He was an idiot and he knew there would be consequences one day. Despite this he always returned to Aaron.'
Or
A borrower that can't keep himself from the human he lives under.
༊༄.°
Aaron’s eyes scanned the email from his assistant; auditions, scripts, characters to study. He sighed and drummed his fingers against his mug. He opened a script, sipping his coffee when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.
He smirked and turned his attention to the borrower, delighted by the tiny distraction. He watched him pull himself onto his desk with ease; he unlatched the hook from the oak and wrapped the thread around the tool. Aaron watched his hands, they were tiny, sure, but strong and calloused. A far cry from his own plush palms, he found himself itching to grab him already.
“It’s been awhile. Surprised you decided to show up.” He murmured around the lip of his mug. He took a sip, trying to be nonchalant. He bit back a smirk as the man rolled his eyes.
“Been busy.” the borrower, Lee, told him as he tucked the hook into his bag. He shed his jacket, setting it next to his bag on the desk. Aaron watched his muscles shift under the thin shirt, he swallowed the rapidly accumulating saliva in his mouth. Aaron watched as he shifted his weight on the balls of his feet as his eyes flicked over him. “But I’m here now…” Lee added softly.
A smirk tugged at his lips, “You are, aren’t you?” He set his mug down before settling back in his seat. “Well don’t keep me waiting…” He murmured.
Lee didn’t waste time; he tugged off his shirt, then his pants and socks. Aaron’s eyes scanned over him. One week without him was too long. Lee was a lean little thing, handsome. He had dark skin and big eyes. Aaron adored him. He’d found him six months ago, they’d been having sex for five. He watched him toss his clothes into a pile by his bag.
“So obedient. Are all you little things like that? Or just you, doll?” He asked with a small smile. He was obsessed with him, genuinely, absolutely infatuated with his size. He was so muscled; strong, capable, and stupidly mysterious. He adored everything about the little creature.
Lee bit his lip, ignoring the question. His thumb hooked on the edge of his boxers, he looked up at the giant through his lashes. “These too, sir?” He asked.
Aaron smirked, sir, cute. He leaned in closer, “Keep those on. I like taking them off myself.” He whispered. He gently ran his thumb along his chest, “Your tits are so cute,” he chuckled.
He watched Lee’s adam’s apple bob, he leaned into his touch. “They’re sensitive…” He murmured.
“I know,” Aaron breathed, their faces were inches apart. He felt the tiny hand brush along his jaw, goosebumps prickled along his arms at the gentle touch. He leaned into it and felt his hand trace the gold chain around his neck. “Maybe I should get you a matching one. Make yours a pretty little collar.”
Lee shyly nodded. “To show I’m all yours?” He whispered.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Aaron mumbled as he leaned forward to gently nip at his pecs, scraping the soft meat between his teeth. God he was such a sweet thing. He smelled so fucking good. He sucked at him for a moment, eyes scanning his face. His hand curled around his back and his thumb came up to rub his hip.
The borrower was clearly trying to stifle his reaction, his face twisted and his bottom lip between his teeth. Aaron took this as a challenge, his tongue circled his tiny nipples. Lee huffed, whimpering softly.
“Is my little doll getting excited?” Aaron teased as he pulled away.
His shadow easily dwarfed Lee. He lifted him up and pulled him to his face. He pinched his boxers and tugged them off. He lifted them to his nose and sighed happily, “Smells like you.” He murmured.
He tossed them to the side and looked him over. He laid back in his palm, watching him with those big eyes, his dick already leaking. Aaron leaned forward and licked the pre off of it, letting his tongue slowly drag along his cock.
Lee whined and lifted his hips, he slung his arm over his eyes, whimpering as he pulled away. He hissed and reached down to touch himself. Aaron clicked his tongue, he took both his hands and pinned them above his head. “Need to see you.” He whispered, eyes locked on his. “And you don’t get to touch yourself. That’s my job, okay?”
“Aaron…” Lee whined, squirming in his palm. He gasped as the giant went between his legs and nosed at his balls. “P-Please…”
“Yes, pretty thing? Have something to say?” Aaron kissed his inner thighs. He loved to tease him. It just wasn’t fair to be so beautiful. He tasted so good and his smell was intoxicating; it made his head spin. He licked a stripe up his thigh. He wanted to wear Lee on a chain and parade him around, let the world see him.
He whimpered, “M-More, please, sir. I-I can’t…”
Music to his ears. He easily took him into his mouth, he tasted so good on his tongue. He hummed around him. Aaron looked up through his lashes, Lee’s mouth agape and gasping, sweat beading on his forehead, his brows pinched together. He wanted to devour him. He felt his little hands cling to the thumb that held them in place. Lee moaned loudly, tossing his head back and squirming.
“I-I won’t last…” He gasped as Aaron swirled the tip of his tongue around his dick.
He hummed knowingly around him, his nose brushing his navel as the man let out a choked groan. He stiffened beneath him, legs quivering.
Aaron watched, feeling the small spurt of cum on his tongue. He pulled off of him and swallowed. He grinned lazily down at him. He kissed his abdomen and his throat, nipping at it.
“You okay?” He whispered. He smiled softly at him. “You just keep getting better, Lee.”
He let out a breathless laugh, “It was…” he huffed, “decent. Last week was better,” he teased. “Could you let my hands go now?”
“You’re such a dick,” Arron scoffed. He pressed another kiss to his chest before lifting his thumb, releasing him. He trailed his thumb along his side before he gently set him down; he found his boxers, “Here.”
Lee took the boxers but made no move to put them on. “What about you?”
Aaron pursed his lips and shrugged. The borrower rolled his eyes and tossed the boxers onto his pile of clothes. He walked to the edge of the desk, gauging it. Aaron’s eyes widened as he jumped onto the desk chair, between his legs.
“Jeez, careful…” He mumbled, he bit his lip as he watched him saunter towards his bulge; his hands trailing along his thighs. “You look real fucking pretty down there. You know you belong there, right?”
Lee nodded. “I belong here…” He agreed quietly. He looked up with complete admiration.
The tiny hands ran along his clothed dick. Aaron couldn’t help himself, he sat forward. He knocked Lee onto his back and let his weight roll onto his tiny form. He shivered as he felt him crushed under his balls. He bit his lip, rolling his hips once before pulling back.
Lee gasped, “You’re a fucking asshole…” He muttered but a small, awed smile decorated his face.
“Yeah, yeah… You love it…” He grinned, reaching down to gently push Lee back and rubbed his cock through his sweatpants lazily. “Thought of you last night. Your pretty little face buried in my cockhead.” He whispered, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes.
He watched Lee’s gaze flick between his dick and his face. “C-Can I?” He whispered, sitting up.
Aaron groaned softly, that fucking voice. Awed and desperate. He stroked himself for another moment, eyes locked on Lee. He looked so hungry for it.
He slowly took his cock out and pushed it towards his face, his thumb pushing his head down to his height. Pre dripped down it. “Go on, little one.” he murmured.
He watched Lee lean forward, licking up the dripping precum. He shuddered as he pushed his face into his slit, his tongue flicking deep into him.
“Jesus,” he panted, leaning back in his chair and breathing deeply. “Fuck, Lee,” he moaned. He looked down and stroked his hair back, “that’s it, such a good boy. You’re making me feel so good.”
His tiny hands came up to massage his tip. One of Aaron’s hands held his dick while the other gripped the arm of his chair. Aaron swallowed thickly; he was so sweet and entertaining to watch, but he needed to get off. And poor little Lee, panting and working as hard as he could, needed a little help.
He stroked along his length, his other hand coming down to cup Lee’s back. He let him fall back. He was panting, his face covered in cum. Aaron groaned as he looked up at his cock with adoration, he looked like an angel. “Can I cum on you?” He asked breathlessly.
Lee nodded. “Please.” He whimpered.
Aaron moaned, mouth parted as he came all over his tiny lover. The cum coated him, dripping off his tiny form and through his fingers. “Jesus…” he whispered, watching Lee wipe his face clear and lick the jizz off his hand.
“Pretty little thing, look at you,” he whispered, he kissed his forehead, “let’s get you cleaned up, doll.”
ᯓ★
Lee sighed softly as the giant ran his fingers over him, using a face cloth to carefully scrub him clean. He smiled softly as Aaron pecked a kiss to the side of his face. “How’d I get so lucky?” The giant mumbled softly.
Lee fought to stay awake as the warm water ran over his aching muscles. He kept himself preoccupied by looking up at Aaron, taking him in. He was stupidly handsome, soft brown curls, green eyes, a smooth, olive complexion and a blinding smile. He was stupidly charming, it made sense that he was an actor. He huffed in annoyance as Aaron grinned down at him.
“What?” The human asked, chuckling. He lifted him from the water and cupped him in his palm.
Lee shook his head. “Nothing, you’re just annoying… But this was really nice, Aaron… Thank you.” He murmured as the man began to run a fluffy towel over him.
“You’re welcome,” he smiled. “You know,” he murmured as he dried him off, “if you weren’t so shy, we could be doing this every morning, every night. I could keep you in a little cage next to my bed,” he teased. He kissed his throat.
Lee rolled his eyes. “In your dreams.” He mumbled, lifting his chin to grant him access. He smirked at the laugh that bubbled out of the giant.
He was held to his chest as he brought him back to the desk. Lee tugged on his clothes, feeling Aaron’s eyes on him the whole time. He glanced at the computer behind him. “When’s your next meeting?” He asked.
Aaron shrugged, glancing at the computer. “In like fifteen.” He set his cheek in his hand as he looked down at him.
Lee nodded, “I’ll get out of your hair.” He swung his bag over his shoulder.
He watched the giant pout. “What if I just shove you in my boxers while I take the meeting? I’m sure it would make things more interesting.” Aaron teased, reaching down to plant his thumb under his chin, his pointer finger running along his cheek.
“I’d bite your dick,” he snorted, leaning into his touch. “Next time,” he murmured. He hesitated. “Do you, uh, do you have-“
Aaron blinked before quickly nodding. “Ah… One second.” Lee watched him leave the room.
He sighed softly and grit his teeth. This was the worst part, he hated being reliant on him. Aaron knew it too. He ran his hand over his forehead and waited.
“Here you go, doll.” Aaron set the small plastic-wrapped parcel in his hands. Food, enough to last him a week at least.
“Thanks.” He murmured, tucking it into his bag.
Aaron kissed his shoulder, his giant lips brushing the fabric. “Don’t mention it. When am I gonna see you again?” Aaron murmured.
“I’ll try to come back soon.” Lee whispered, leaning forward to kiss his nose. He gave him a soft smile before he pulled away.
Aaron scooped him up and set him on the ground, near his exit. Lee waved and disappeared behind the bookshelf. He sighed softly as he entered the familiar darkness. He followed the trail of footsteps in the dust; the path formed from months of visiting the giant in his office.
The food in his pack seemed to dig into his ribs, an awful reminder that he was dependent on the human. He needed him. He couldn’t do it without him. Well he could, he had done it before. But he kept coming back, unable to stay away. He felt the ever-familiar guilt wash over him.
He was a failure of his kind. Everything he’d ever been taught, he was disobeying it all. He was an idiot and he knew there would be consequences one day. Despite this he always returned to Aaron.
He took a deep breath before stepping through the curtain into his home. Lee took a match and lit the candle, illuminating the small space. He’d spent years making their “house” feel like a home. It was cozy and eclectic, but intentionally messy enough that if a human discovered it they might be fooled into thinking it could be a rodent’s nest. Stamps and newspaper cuttings decorated the walls, a carpet of patch-worked fabric. To any human it would be a mess but it was his home, their home.
He peeked into his room and sighed in relief, his guilt and anxiety melting away.
On the bed was his daughter. Still fast asleep. She’d barely moved since he put her down for the nap. Her name was Bailey, she was almost three now.
He was learning how to parent as she grew up, it was just the two of them. Everything he did was for her.
He smiled softly and let her sleep as he began to assemble their dinner. He carefully peeled back the packaging from the food Aaron gave him. Completely unbothered by the familiar sound of the human’s footsteps reverberating through their home.
“I’ve been having the same nightmare where a giant hand grabs me out of my bed for weeks now. I thought it was just stress, but I’ve started waking up with bruises.”
and while we’re here i need to make out with a giant crazy style… i want to feel the wet humid heat of their mouth, their hand curled around my back, fingers curling around me possessively. i want their thumb to push against the back of my head and press me impossibly closer into their lips. their lips are like cushions around my head, i’m nearly suffocating in them until they part their lips and my head nearly slips entirely into their mouth. i gasp into their mouth, panting. the only air i have is their heated breath. which is shallow as their tongue snakes out to run along my face and taste me. it hones in on my mouth, forcing my lips to part and grant them access.
need to make out with a tiny person crazy style, tongue all over their face. i want to feel their tongue on mine, choking on my saliva while whimpering into my mouth. they pull away, completely soaked, my drool dripping down their chin and neck, hair mussed, and their face flushed and splotchy. and their eyes keep darting from my eyes to my mouth cuz they want more.
Ugh. Currently obsessed with the idea of my giantess gf grinding me into her favorite pillow….
Lying there helpless as she closes her thighs around its softness, panties already damp. Any movement from me only urges her to go faster, hips rocking as she searches for the best spot to feel me.
Bonus points if she’s sleepy and unaware, spurred into action by my struggles when I realize I’m trapped. Her hips move almost lazily at first, increasing in speed as my attempts to free myself only serve to stimulate her more. Only for her to finish, resuming those slow, lazy motions she’d started with before settling down, pulling her pillow ever closer.
Or or or…sneaking down there to wake her up. There’s no trouble in positioning myself between her thighs, using my hands and whole body to massage her. The pillow traps me quickly, and before long she’s humping into it, into me, greedily, too tired and unaware to realize im down there. Soft moans and whimpers reach my ears, urging me to move faster.
Anyway…A question to all my giants out there; what would you do if you woke up to find me at your crotch after unknowingly getting off on my tiny body?
Something about being a tiny that gets mailed back and forth between long-distance lovers, and it’s so so scary because you get jostled and bruised a lot, but at the end of the journey there’s always someone waiting to shower you with giant kisses and clutch you tightly to their chest and murmur adorations in your ear that are really meant for someone else because you’re the living representation of the love they have for each other. And maybe it’s innocent for them, but when you fall asleep curled up on one of their pillows at night, you imagine them together, wet and grinding against each other with your tiny body caught in the middle.
Summary: The craft is on. While Beth constructs Eloise's golden ballroom shoes, the window is closing on his chance to see the world. The terrifying, gigantic world.
Last part folks! Trust there will be more of these guys in the future. For now, enjoy the foot stuff.
Miss Elliott insisted Mr. Cuffee walk Beth home. With his absurdly generous payment, collection of gold and amber beads, and glistening brocaded silk, he had little choice but to agree. Wheeling his cart at a snail’s pace beside the human’s long strides all the way home was humiliating, but it would have been even more so to have him carry the cart or heaven forbid, the borrower himself. As it was, the butler carried all the expensive goods at risk. At least Miss Elliott did not call errand boy Jack for the job.
Beth pushed the cart extra hard, but it still took an hour. Sparing a hand, he directed the butler to the back of the barber shop where the basement access was. Compared to the modern geometric apartment building from which they came, the borrower hole was a dump. But Mr. Cuffee did not seem to mind.
Beth led his cart to one of the small, borrower-sized doors dotting the building’s foundation. Most were for regular entry, but this was the wide, sliding door that opened to his shop. He pulled out a key and hauled the door open. When he secured his cart inside, he came back out to meet a kneeling Mr. Cuffee.
“Here you are, Mr. Beth.” The giant handed him the box of beads. Beth took it in both arms and hauled it to the floor by his work station. Mr. Cuffee folded the brocade into a smaller, tighter bundle and offered it next. Beth did his best to avoid touching the silk to the ground as he carried it like a rug and stashed it on a shelf. The money, Mr. Cuffee gave to him in a drawstring purse made of purple velvet. It was the largest and heaviest.
“All secure, Mr. Beth?”
He scanned the shop, then nodded up at the middle-aged human. “Yes, thank-you.”
“Excellent.” Mr. Cuffee’s moustache contoured his upper lip as he smiled. “I look forward to seeing you again.”
The giant stood and set off.
Beth hesitated. “Mr. Cuffee?” He called. The man turned to look down at him. It was not with unkindness, but the towering, undivided gaze set him on edge. He mustered his courage. “Thank-you for dinner. It was… it was good.”
Thoughtful. Accommodating. Delicious. But all he managed was good.
Mr. Cuffee smiled again. There was fondness in his crinkled, umber eyes. Somehow, Beth got the feeling he understood. He put a hand to his chest. “You are very welcome to dine with us again, Mr. Beth. Have a good night.”
The borrower struck a match to light the shop candle while he watched the black oxfords recede. He sighed.
“Who was that, JB?”
He turned to find Florence in the door to the house. She was absent of Margaret’s children, on her hip or pulling at her skirt. Perhaps they were eating their own supper.
Beth rolled the wide shop door shut and locked it. He smacked his lips. “A friend of my client’s.”
His sister raised her brows. “Eloise Elliott’s friend? Don’t let Ethel catch wind of that. She’ll chase him down the street and beg him to take her to get a signature.”
Beth chuckled at that. “He just came to drop off supplies.”
Florence followed his sight to the bundle of silk on the shelf. “Goodness.” She slid to the golden fabric shining in the candle light. “Have you ever seen anything so fine?” She just dared touch it, like she was petting a rare animal. “Finer than this?”
Beth bit his lip. Yes, the dress it came from.
Florence set her eyes to the box by the work table. She darted over and lifted the lid with a gasp. “Oh, JB! They’re beautiful. You have to let me help you with them.”
He dipped his head appreciatively. His sister spun around the room slowly, looking for more treasure. She stopped at the velvet bag. “What’s this?”
“Never mind that.”
She shot him a strong stare. “You mean the purple, velvet bag isn’t from Miss Elliott?” She pulled the drawstring loose before he could get another word in. “Good heavens.” Florence stepped back. She gave him an amazed look. “What kind of shoes are you making for the woman, JB?” She stuck her head back in. “Is it a gift to Christ himself? What is she paying you? How much is this?”
“A hundred dollars,” he said softly.
“A hundr—” Florence whipped her head around so quick, her blonde hair hit her in the face. Her eyes were as wide as buttons. “A hundred dollars, JB?” She whispered.
“I tried to say no,” Beth explained. “She told me to accept her money or accept losing her business.”
Florence blinked. She straightened, raising her brows. “I think I like this woman.”
“I don’t,” Beth shook his head. “There’s something… about her.”
Florence pulled the bag closed. “You think she’s playing at something phony?”
He stared at the gold-spun silk on the shelf. It should be on a grand stage somewhere, a luxurious party or ball, rather than in his dusty old shop. “I don’t know.” He admitted. “I can’t… she’s so… frustrating. Firm, then gentle, then…” He shook his head. He was so humiliated, then so honored. “She’s just so sure. Everything must be perfect. Exactly how she wants it. Nothing can be improper, or dirty, but…”
She employs me.
“…but she’s not always so horribly unkind.”
Florence studied him closely. “Be careful. There’s not a bean out there I’d trust, but one throwing around a hundred dollars for a pair of shoes?” She let out a low whistle.
Beth just bobbed his head and took a seat on his work bench. The table lip pressed against his back. “She wants me to go with her,” he admitted, terribly quiet.
“What?”
“France, Italy, Australia… Chicago… She wants me to tour with her. In-house cordwainer.”
His sister gaped at him, bug-eyed.
Beth gestured at the shop falling down around their ears. “It would pay for the house. It would pay for everyone’s house. Margaret, Aunt Violet, Uncle George, Genieveve, Ike, Mildred, their kids… Everyone. A few years of that kind of money,” he pointed to the velvet purse, “and we could buy a house big enough for beans, and every borrower in the world could move in.”
Florence bounced her hip. “And what’s in it for her?”
Beth wiped his mouth. “I don’t know. She says the shoes.” He drummed his foot. “She says the shoes are beautiful. That she likes beautiful, custom things.” He stared at his brogues. “She says she likes my work.”
His sister weighed the words. “Maybe she’s honest.”
“I don’t know,” Beth shook his head. “But I can’t go. It’s never… have you ever heard of such a thing?”
“No.” Florence admitted slowly. “No, I haven’t. It would destroy Mother.”
Beth closed his eyes. The devastating confirmation washed over him.
The floor creaked as Florence shifted her weight. She hugged her elbows. “It would be like losing Father all over again.”
“No,” he shook his head. “No. I would write. And I would send money. Father never did that, he just…” he clenched his fists, rocking. “He just disappeared.”
“And how do you know the same won’t happen to you?”
“I don’t,” he sighed. “I don’t, Florie.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “That’s why I’m not going. I’m doing this one job, and then Miss Elliott goes off to Chicago with her bright, shiny new Mary Janes.”
Florence nodded. There was a shared melancholy in her eyes.
“So not a word of it.”
She nodded again. “Sure.”
“I mean it. To Mother, or Margaret, or the little ones, and especially not Ethel. It isn’t happening. Don’t put it in her head.”
“Agreed.”
Beth and Eloise had settled on a two-month update. Beth ordered the leather, cleared his schedule, and pulled out the first block of beech. He started on the right foot. Sketching out the pattern for the last, he took extra care to lay out all the curves and lines along the precise measurements. Then he pulled off his shirt and grabbed his axe. A human craftsman would use a knife, but there was not a wood knife he could properly maneuver that would be big enough.
Beth worked the block down chunk by chunk, chip by chip, until finally it started to resemble a clunky, heelless Mary Jane. Now, he took a knife to it.
Knives, chisels, gouges, and rifflers, until finally, the shape was right. He checked his notes furiously, aligning the last with the paper outline and keeping his measuring tape at arm’s reach. But it was more than just the simple shape he was after. It was the movement of it; the foot and shoe in unison. The roll of a step. The sharpness of a turn. The pressure points along the heel, the ball, the toes. Support for the joints, the arch. Room for every digit, from big toe to pinkie. He was in constant refinement. Was the waist too tight? Too loose? Was this curve too narrow? Too broad? Too steep?
Beth ended every day hot, sweaty, and muscles aching. But it was a hundred-dollar ache. Who knew when he would ever feel it again.
You could, a voice whispered to him. You could feel the ache of hundreds of dollars. And a full stomach. And a secure life.
But it wouldn’t be secure, would it? A life on the road, open to a world of gigantic, strange hands? Watching eyes, careless feet? New York was hard enough, he’d never survive the unknown beyond it.
You could, the voice said again. It sounded an awful lot like it came from plum-painted lips. Don’t you want to see it? The world?
Beth could not bring himself to answer the voice. Instead, he threw himself into sanding. It was long, and laborious, and least of all meticulous, but in the end, the beech-wood last was smooth to the touch, not a splinter to be found.
Then he did it all again for the left foot. He worked through the night more than he cared to admit to his family, but the night before the two month mark felt as though it were only an hour. Blinking dry eyes open, he packaged the lasts and was off to Eloise’s apartment. Mr. Cuffee met him, just as before, to chaperone his cart to the tiffany-blue parlor where Miss Elliott awaited him.
Today her dress was smooth silk, the color of ripe tangerines and with a shine that moved like the sun over the surface of the sea. A black-and-white sash was tied at her hip to match the scarf over her sculpted curls. She was removing shiny saddle oxford heels, black-and-white to complete the set. They were not bespoke.
“Mr. Beth!” Eloise greeted. “I’m in a bit of a rush to get to my lunch meeting, but I should have just enough time for our appointment.”
“I’ll be brief,” he promised.
Mr. Cuffee made his leave. Beth pulled out the lasts and Eloise pulled off her stockings. Her eyes ran over the carved beech curiously. “May I?”
He nodded.
She took the wooden models into her hands. They fit easily, lifted high above his head as effortless as the breeze. “You made these from scratch?”
He nodded.
Eloise ran her thumb over the arch. “I’m impressed. Your woodworking skills are as fine as your shoes.”
He dipped his chin. “Need to be. Now, I just need to compare it to the real thing.”
“Of course.” She set the lasts next to her feet.
Beth fetched his notes and measuring tape. Strolling slowly around the two sets of feet, he assessed right and left. “Hold your heel?”
“Statement, Jimmy.”
He sighed quietly. “Hold your heel. Three inches. I need to see it in position.”
“Very good.” She raised her right heel.
He put a hand against it. “A little higher.”
The gigantic foot did as directed. Unlike the last, it was warm and alive. The skin was thick, but not so thick as wood. A real heel, attached to a real girl. Beth unwravelled his measuring tape. Clenching his jaw, he slid a hand under her heel.
“On my lead,” he pipped up. Then carefully, he lifted his palm. Beth wasn’t sure how much force to use, but Eloise responded to the slightest push. He watched the measuring tape. “There.” He said. “Can you hold there?”
“As long as you need, Jimmy.”
“Thank-you.” He ran his hand along the side of her foot, over the arch, to the top. He’d run his hands over its wooden twin a hundred times. He settled his palm over the first joint of her big toe. “Need to file this down more,” he murmured to himself, “half a millimeter.” He stepped back and let his hand fall by the wayside. “You can release now.”
The heel lowered to the floor. The other raised. “This three inches?”
Beth reached up, pulling at her heel. “Just so.” He inspected the foot from top to bottom, then its wooden twin. This one was identical.
“That’ll be all for today, Miss Elliott.”
Both heels flattened. Eloise reached for her stockings. “Marvelous. When shall I see you next?”
He collected his measuring tape. “A month.”
“Mm.” She bent to touch the lasts. “May I?”
He looked up. “Oh. Uh, please.”
Easy as the breeze, she loaded the lasts into his cart, and he was off. Finally, it was time for the main show. Bringing the shoes to life.
Beth drew up and cut out the patterns for the Mary Janes, transferring them to the full-grain leather to slice it. Each one was different; the pattern for the right couldn’t be used for the left, nor the reverse. Not for true, bespoke work. The same needed to be done for the lining. Unfolded, the fabric spread as a sea of silk waves, like his floor was made of molten gold. There was a yard and a half margin for error, but Beth still struggled to keep his hand from shaking as he put shears to it.
The lines were crisp and clean, edges finished quickly to keep from fraying.
He prepped the leather with an awl and the needles with waxed thread. The sharp, metal points were large and long enough to be sabers, thicker and stronger than standard sewing needles. Beth constructed the uppers with a saddle stitch, joining leather and silk together as he went. He punched holes in the straps and added matching gold buckles.
He paused his sewing to lay insole boards below the lasts and trim them to size. Pulling the semi-finished uppers over the lasts, he searched for wrinkles and cut away excess. He let the leather stretch and settle into shape while he glued the edges to the insole boards, mindful to leave the gold brocade free. Constantly trimming the bottom flat, flat, flat, Beth attached the toe puff to the front and the counter stiffness to the heel, then encased the whole of the shoe with the silk lining and stitched it into place.
Finally, Beth cut the leather for the outsole, heedful to the exact shape and size of the bottom of the shoe. He watched with great satisfaction as it sealed every layer in a clean, even level.
He pulled a pair of French heels from his stock, adding and shaping layers of leather until they were perfectly three inches tall. Beth dressed them in gold silk and hammered on tips. Lining the heels below the lasts, they looked like fully assembled Mary Janes. But not yet.
Beth climbed inside the giant shoes, the hollow encasement of Eloise’s feet, and settled at the highest point. Lining up nails half as tall as he was, he swung a hammer over his head until they all but disappeared into the insole board. Now, the heels would go nowhere. Eloise could dance up the road from New York to Chicago and they wouldn’t so much as budge.
As requested, he added plentiful padding. He couldn’t have her feet aching while she traveled the world. He finished the interior with the same leather he began with. A little sanding and buffing, and the shoes were ready for their trial try on.
Though this time he had no Mr. Cuffee to escort the valuable goods, Beth packaged the shoes tenderly and delivered them to Eloise’s apartment where Miss Cassidy met him at the bottom.
“Hello, Mr. Beth.” She greeted giddily.
“Hello,” he said. He eyed her shifting feet.
“I’m so excited to see Miss Elliott’s shoes,” she beamed, hazel eyes aglow. “I’ve never seen bespoke shoes, and gold ones at that, too.”
“Ah.” Beth drummed fingers against his cart. “Up we go, then.”
Miss Elliott received him in her parlor for the third time in as many months, fashioned in a powder blue dress with a square neckline and lots of lace. She was adorned with copious pearls at her neck, wrists, and ears. If she was anywhere near as excited as her maid, she hid it better.
He tipped his head to steel his nerves. “Miss Elliott.”
“Mr. Beth.” She raised a curious brow, spying the plain cardboard box in his cart. “May I see?”
He nodded, grinding teeth to hold his ground as the giant crossed the parlor to stand before him. She wore no shoes, ready to try his. He fidgeted as she took the box from the cart. Up above, where he could not see, she pulled the lid off.
Cassidy gasped softly behind him. He turned to see her lean in, chin lifted to catch a glimpse. Eloise raised one golden heel, rotating it in the sunlight.
“They’re beautiful, Miss.”
Brown eyes inspected the heel closely. “Yes, they are.”
“They aren’t finished, yet, Miss.” Beth wrung his hands. “I need to be sure they’re proper, first.”
Eloise took her eyes off the Mary Jane to gaze at him. “Shall I try them on then, Mr. Beth?”
He nodded.
She took a seat on the lounge couch, removing the lasts from the shoes and setting the box aside. The glamorous pair, she placed reverently on the floor. They slipped on like they were always meant to be there. Like her feet were incomplete without the glittering gold appendages, her body made whole.
She secured the straps gingerly and stood. Eloise shifted her weight for a moment, feeling, then did a twirl across the carpet. Arms raised, she stepped back, to the side, forward, and to the side again. A simple box waltz.
“Yes,” Eloise agreed, turning once more. She did another box waltz, this time stepping forward as the leading dancer. “I can’t wait to break them in.”
“It shouldn’t require much,” Beth assured.
“Would you like to try them with the dress, Miss?” Cassidy gestured towards the bedroom hall. “I can fetch it, if you like.”
“No, thank-you, Cassie. I would prefer to hold the final viewing for when the heels are finished.”
“Alright, Miss.” She smoothed her skirt. “I’ll go press your dress for tonight’s dance then, shall I? The ruby one, from Paris. Call for me when Mr. Beth is ready.”
“Thank-you, Cassie.” Eloise stopped her waltz to address him. “How much is there left to complete?”
Beth cleared his throat. “The beading. It’ll take a few weeks. Very detailed. And any adjustments, those too.”
Eloise looked down at the shoes. “I don’t think adjustments are necessary.”
“Hm.” Beth crossed the carpet, hands outstretched to meet the Mary Janes, like he was approaching a wild animal. “I need to be sure of it.”
He ran palms over the toe box, feeling for the fit. He slid his hands down to the arch, skimming fingers along the underside of the outsole to check the stitch. The gold fibers in the silk shimmered up at him as he rounded the heel. It looked so much better up here in the open light than in the dim, low-ceiling basement workshop. It was almost a shame to take them back; this was where they were meant to be, on the feet they belonged to. Seeing the world.
Beth assessed the uppers of the other Mary Jane, then took hold of the strap and pulled himself up.
“Oh!” Eloise shifted.
Beth clutched the strap to keep his grip, flexing his feet to stabilize himself atop hers. “Sorry! Sorry!” He shouted, getting to his knees. “I should have said something first!”
The tendons below him relaxed. “Stable now, Jimmy?’
He swallowed. “Yeah.” He leaned up on his forearms, breathing out slow. He gave the strap a wiggle, then ran fingers over the holes to make sure they were still properly spaced. Beth stuck two fingers between the body of the strap and Eloise’s skin, nodding to himself. He checked the buckle lay flat, then dismounted. His feet hit the thick, turquoise fibers of the carpet and he trudged over to the other shoe.
“Climbing up again,” he called.
“Alright; I’ll do my best not to buck you off, Jimmy.”
Beth patted the side of her foot with a nervous chuckle. “I uh, I appreciate that.” He took hold of the golden strap, stepping up onto the lip of the shoe and swinging his foot over. He put a hand to the top of her foot to balance himself, still clutching the strap with the other. The skin below his palm twitched. He moved both hands quickly to the strap.
The shadow above him retreated. Heart freezing, Beth looked up. Eloise peered down at him, leaning over with her skirt pulled back and gathered in one hand. She waved fingers at him. “How’s it looking, Jimmy?”
Beth stilled his wild heart, wetting lips. “G–uh, good.” He returned to the strap and swallowed, sliding fingers over the brocade. “The holes look even. Buckle’s straight. Flat.” He wiggled the strap. “Feels secure.” He slipped his two fingers beneath it. The skin twitched again. He tried to ignore that he could see a few faint veins, here where the skin was thin at the top of the foot. Thin, and sensitive. “But not too tight.”
“You’re satisfied, then?”
He surveyed the shoe from this vantage, then its twin. He wondered what they looked like to Miss Elliott, way up yonder. Even just here, on the sloped top of her foot, he was almost twice as tall. “Yes, I’m satisfied. There shouldn’t need to be adjustments.” He craned his neck to meet her eyes. “I can begin the beading.”
Eloise gave him a smile; beautiful, and joyful, and proud. “I can’t wait to see it finished.”
Beth couldn’t help it, then. He smiled back at her.
Eloise looked over her shoulder. “Before I hand them back, I have something for you.”
“You do?”
She bent over, arm extended. Beth tried to spot something in her hand, but it was empty. And headed right for him—!
He yelped as a wall of fingers slid under his chest, looping below his arm. A massive thumb settled over his shoulder. The pressure of digits squeezed him, and Beth thought he might throw up on her new shoes. His stomach reeled into the air. He scrambled to grab hold of her fingers. “Miss Elliott—” Beth gasped, throat dry. “I—rather hoped we were past all—this—!”
His head spun as she stood. Mercifully, she deposited him atop the cocktail table. “Shall I ask then, next time?”
Beth stumbled to regain his footing. Heart in his throat, he leaned over the edge. The tabletop dropped sharply to the floor below. He wobbled, recovering his balance. Next time.
He turned to find a set of two small boxes. One of them was as long as he was tall. Beth blinked, pointing to his chest with an uncertain finger. “…For me?”
Eloise nodded. “For you.”
He rounded the long box. His mind ran with what could be within. Sparing a nervous glance at the giant’s attentive stare, Beth knelt and took hold of the lid. It was his turn to gasp.
Neatly displayed within the box was a smart, three-piece suit, fitted from steel-gray wool with a tight sharkskin weave; soft, shiny, and new. It was double-breasted, sewn with marbled-brown buttons and assembled with a white dress shirt and caramel tie; Beth couldn’t help but notice it was the same brown as his brogues. So was the pair of leather gloves and the felt fedora laid atop the suit, its hatband a match to the gray weave.
He stood, stunned. Eloise observed his reaction like a hawk. “This is…? But this must have cost you…” He shook his head, dragging a hand over his mouth. “Are you trying to buy my service?”
Eloise put a hand on her hip. “That is generally how it works.”
“No, it isn’t.” He ogled the three piece suit. It laid before him in offering. It would be the nicest, most fashionable thing in his wardrobe. Like the check, all he could do was stare. Again, he said, “I can’t accept this.”
Again, Eloise Elliott waved her hand. “Of course you can. Consider it part of your payment. What else am I going to do with it? Wear it on my pinkie?”
Still shaking his head, Beth closed the lid on the suit to assess the other box, almost in a trance. He was met with a collection of newly-pressed striped boxer shorts, a week’s worth in baby blue, salmon pink, and lime green. White tanks sat folded next to them. He could not help but pick up the box and run his fingers over the crisp material inside. They looked straight out of a fashion magazine. He had never even heard of a pair made for borrowers.
“Better than rags, Jimmy?”
“Why… why are you so…” Beth clutched the fabric. “So kind to me?” He could not think of a better word. He was not sure it was the right one. “Food… a dining table… a hundred dollars… now this… I’m…” Tiny. Powerless. Poor. He could never repay her any of this charity. He would live the rest of his life indebted to her. “I’m a borrower.”
Eloise tilted her head at him, still standing like a skyscraper in her golden heels. She cast down a teasing smile. “I have a soft spot for small things, don’t you remember?”
“Is that it?” His voice tremored. Beth held up the striped shorts, his grip shaky on the box. “You do this for every small, sad, scared creature you see?”
She watched him. The smile was gone.
“You give me this, and it’s still all I am. Borrowing. At least before I took what was unwanted. This… this is too much. It’s too nice. It’s too good, too good to take. I’ll keep my rags.”
“I’m not just giving it to you to replace your rags.” Eloise leaned over the table, landing hands on either side. “Sad as they may be.”
She was too big. Too close. Too sudden, right in front of him. He was boxed in. But Beth could not move; he was rooted to the spot, stripped shorts wrinkling between his fingers as the dancer’s face loomed, pearls dangling. All he could do was arc himself back to meet the depths of her brown eyes. They were serious.
“I’m giving it to you because you’re a skilled man. I’ve seen you work. Felt you work. You have talented fingers, and expert eyes, and you make beautiful things. A man like yourself should always be dressed to match his best.” Eloise shifted her weight to point a finger against his chest, raising it to tilt his chin. “I grew up watching too many men like you live and die before any beautiful thing they made saw a lick of appreciation. And no means to remedy a thing myself.” With her gentle fingertip, she pushed the box further into his arms. “I have the means now. I mean to appreciate it.”
Beth stood there, trembling. He dropped the shorts into the box and clutched its sides. “You…” he finally managed, “Did you hire borrowers to make these?”
“Cassidy took your measurements when she mended your rags.” Eloise shrugged. “They might be a little off, but they can be adjusted. There’s a lovely little tailor shop here in Manhattan with a borrower department that makes them to order.”
“And the table? The dining ware?”
“A high end furniture store, borrower-run.” She cocked her head. “Is it a crime to buy from the little guy?”
“It’s—” He fumbled. “It’s odd.”
Eloise laughed. She tucked curls behind her ear. “Can’t you accept when a gal likes you, Jimmy? Most fellas would be leaping for the opportunity.”
His face was red. “I’m—I’m not ungrateful—”
“Then say yes.” She fixed both hands on the tabletop. Pursing lips, she paused, tapping her nails. “Jimmy, my tour date has been moved up. I leave in a week.”
Beth stepped back, blinking rapidly. “But I—I need more time. I can rush the beading, but it’ll still take—I’d have to—”
“You’d have to come with me.” Eloise said quietly.
The devastation washed over him. He couldn’t breathe. Beth squeezed eyes shut. He clutched the box with both arms, rocking on his heels.
Paris…
Florence…
Sydney…
“...Chicago.” He said finally. “I… I could come with you to Chicago, just to finish this order. And then come straight home.”
“Okay.” Eloise’s lips tugged into a smile, but it looked more like a frown. “Jimmy, my offer still stands. I will pay you, handsomely, if you will make and repair ballroom shoes for me. I will supply you with food and lodging, and you will tour with me. You can go home at any point. I can increase my security, and offer accommodations, but I will not beg. You either come with me, or you don’t. If Chicago is it, then so be it. But don’t keep dragging your feet.”
He stared intensely at the honey hardwood floor below. At the golden sunlight, spilling across the turquoise and amethyst rug, dancing over pink and orange flowers bursting from a Chinese tree. He sucked in a breath, looking over the parlor with watery eyes. The grand piano faced him, glossy and pristine and begging for someone to play it. The high ceiling painted like heaven swelled with light. The French window was open to a brilliant sky, stretching over the wide world beyond this fabulous room.
He could go back. Back to the dusty basement shop and the network of crowded apartments, tiny even for tiny people. Back to discounted repairs for cousins and rich beans looking down their noses at him as their embarrassing last resort. Back to pushing his old cart down an alley, praying another cat did not think itself lucky.
He would miss his mother, and his sisters, and his nieces and nephews, and his cousins, and his uncles and his aunts. He would be scared. And small. And perhaps even sad. But more than this, he knew. He knew that if he went back, he would stay there, and watch Eloise Elliott go on to the world, and regret it forever.
“Any point?”
“Any point.”
Beth thought for a moment more. “No more baths.”
Eloise Elliott laughed. Her eyes glimmered with amusement. “If you promise no more messes.” She held out a fingertip. “Deal?”
Beth shifted the box of clothes to one arm. Somewhat miserably, somewhat elated, he reached out and accepted her fingertip. They shook on it.
realistically if i ever did find a tiny person i think i would just immediately suck them off. no hesitation whatsoever. regardless of circumstance, or how i found them or how they got small, I DONT CARE, i just need to do this one thing first! i need it!
