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Rated: 18+ · Interactive · Adult · #1948494

Pick a character and follow them as they shrink around the girls on their show.

This choice: Shelby Marx  •  Go Back...
Chapter #7

Athlete's Foot

    by: EliteLitter Author IconMail Icon
Carly gave a rather mouse-like squeak of terror as Shelby's Marx mile long legs, a term that had never been more accurate, stomped out of the elevator her, her high heels looking more like great columns that could pulverize Carly like she was nothing. Granted, Shelby was already taller than all of her friends, but this was insane.

"Uh... Carly!?" The MMA fighter called, looking around for her friend. "Just here to drop off some stuff. Freddie and Spencer said it was "Cool beans." They said it like it was a real thing people actually say."

Even if Carly's tiny voice could have reached Shelby's ears, Carly was too dumbstruck by the utterly gargantuan size of the Tori Vega lookalike to even attempt to muster a response. Idly, it occurred to Carly that she'd yet to ask either Tori or Shelby if they were related to each other.

Carly was jolted from her musings when Shelby's massive feet began moving again. Unable to move in time, Carly simply curled herself up into a ball as Shelby's massive foot passed over with wind disturbances equal to a passenger plane. Following her friend, Carly was treated to the sight of the fighter's impossibly skinny jeans tightening over her firm rear end as she threw down her duffel bag of props. "Ok." Shelby called out "Just leaving my stuff here. Now I'm heading out. Cause this kinda feels like Twilight Zone. The original that is."

"Oh how right you are." Carly muttered before a gust of wind lifter her upwards as Shelby speed walked back to the elevator. "No. No. Shelby! Shelby! Help!" The webshow hostess called out as she waved her arms frantically. By sheer dumb luck (though good or bad, Carly wasn't sure), her right hand found purchase on the back of Shelby's right heel and she managed to steadily pull herself upwards.

"This is great." She cursed. "An inch tall and on Shelby Marx's high heels how could... wait. She has to go down. And to get to the main elevator, she has to pass by Freddie's. YES! Thank you Shelby." Carly cheered as the MMA star entered the freight elevator. Soon she'd back to normal and who knew? Maybe if Freddie got the shrink ray working, then the little man could spend time in his girlfriend's giant panties. Or maybe Carly could experience life at 8 feet tall.

Unfortunately, in her great haste, Carly had neglected to both account for the elevator's effects on her tiny body or keep watch on Shelby. With a jolt, the machine lurched into action, causing the miniaturized girl to slip and get her foot stuck in-between Shelby's heel and her shoe. "Damn it." She cursed as she tried to shake herself loose. "Wait. Shelby!" She cried, looking upwards, only to be greeted by the sight of her friend's bubblebutt wiggling back and forth, a headphone cable sticking out of her back pocket. "Damn it." Carly repeated as she tried desperately to not only free her foot but stabilize herself on the Latina's swaying body.

As if the universe had it out for her, the elevator dinged and Shelby exited into the main floor of Spencer's apartment. "Adios Spence!" She called.

"See ya!" He called from somewhere.

"Spencer!" Carly futilely called as Shelby exited. "Come on. Come on. Come on." Carly muttered trying ever harder to break free even as she saw Shelby casually pass by Freddie's apartment and make for the main elevator.

And again, Carly's heart dropped as the doors opened and Shelby hit the lobby button.

Now Carly didn't like swearing, but sometimes, only a swear could suffice for a situation. "Aw fuck." She spat, tiny foot still imprisoned.

What happens next?

1) As Shelby strolls through the lobby, Carly is shaken free. As the hostess tries to figure out how to get back up to her floor, she's picked up, literally, by her insane stalker, Nora.

2) Carly can't shake herself loose and when Shelby returns to her hotel room, she finds her little stowaway.
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