The sterile fluorescent lights of the hospital pharmacy seemed colder than usual as Phillip shuffled in, his eyes scanning nervously for a familiar blue uniform. His mother's cough had worsened, prompting a late-night trip for antibiotics, and Phillip found himself back in the domain of the mountain goddess, Agatha.
But as he reached the counter, his heart froze. There she was, not towering over him in the sterile corridor, but perched regally behind the counter, dispensing medication with a practiced hand. Her uniform, once a symbol of unyielding strength, now seemed almost mundane, yet the glint in her eyes reminded him of the crushing power she wielded.
"Can I help you, young man?" Agatha boomed, her voice softened by the sterile routine. But Phillip could have sworn he heard a playful edge, a reminder of their shared secret hanging heavy in the air.
Phillip's throat constricted. He stumbled through his mother's name and the prescription details, his palms slick with a nervous sweat. Agatha, with a knowing smile, retrieved the medication, her movements deliberate, each clink of bottles punctuated by the deafening silence between them.
"So," she rumbled, her voice a low tremor that vibrated through the countertop, "how's that awareness treating you?"
Phillip flinched, the memory of her foot crushing him like a grape flashing vividly in his mind. "It's… it's fine," he stammered, clutching the flimsy paper bag like a lifeline.
Agatha leaned forward, her eyes boring into his. "Full awareness," she emphasized, her voice a teasing whisper. "Or are there still… gaps?"
The question hung like a loaded weapon, the unspoken threat of another crushing session sending shivers down Phillip's spine. He felt trapped, a pawn in her game, yet a strange thrill ignited within him.
"Actually I was so mesmerised by our last encounter that I wrote about it on heavytrampling.co.uk's story forum." Phillip told Agatha hoping to convey how special the experience was for him.
The sterile air vibrated with a delicious tension as Phillip's words hung heavy in the pharmacy. Agatha's smile, like a predator relishing the scent of its prey, stretched wider. "Internet forum, you say?" she rumbled, her voice a purr with amusement. "And what, pray tell, did these fine gentlemen want to know about this 'mountain goddess'?"
Phillip swallowed, his gaze flickering towards the fluorescent lights as if seeking escape. "Details," he mumbled, "the size of your feet, how it felt… your shoes."
Agatha's smile grew, morphing into something mischievous. "Shoes, eh? The instruments of my... persuasion?" she drawled, each word dripping with suggestiveness. "And what did your dear forum friends ask about them, little boy?"
He felt a blush creep up his neck, but a reckless ember danced in his eyes. "The size, the type… how they felt against me," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.
Agatha leaned closer, her gaze pinning him like a butterfly under glass. "Interesting," she murmured, her voice a low growl. "And what would you give, young man, for a closer look at these tools of your fascination?"
Phillip's heart hammered against his ribs, a wild mix of trepidation and anticipation buzzing through him. The line between submission and control blurred, and for a moment, he tasted the forbidden fruit of her offer. "Anything," he whispered, the word catching in his throat.
Agatha's grin widened, a cruel crescent against her granite features. "Anything, you say? Then meet me back here at lunchtime, little boy. Perhaps," she purred, leaning closer until their noses were inches apart, "I'll give you another forty stone experience to share with your... eager audience."
Her breath, faintly metallic and musky, sent shivers down his spine. Phillip knew the path she laid before him was dark and dangerous, yet the pull of his twisted desire was too strong to resist. He nodded, a silent pact forged in the sterile air of the pharmacy.
As midday sunlight filtered through the windows, Phillip returned, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. Agatha, a mountain cloaked in shadow at the back of the counter, met him with a glint in her eyes. "Ah, the boy returns," she boomed, her voice laced with amusement.
With a flick of her wrist, she swung her legs onto the counter, revealing a pair of monstrous shoes, each the size of a dinner plate. Leather, scarred and worn, gleamed under the harsh lights, a testament to their crushing prowess.
Agatha's gaze, sharp and knowing, held him captive. "So, little boy," she rumbled, her voice a low tremor, "are you ready for another tale for your forum friends?"