Tracer's Forced Footrest

No matter how eager one was to buddy up with Lena, nobody was crazy enough to actually sit next to her in class. Unfortunately the teacher quite enjoyed watching her favorite pupil break down her neighbors, and always assigned someone to sit there even when the class wasn't full. The last student to sit here had snapped and shouted at the taunting girl, and had briskly earned himself a permanent position beneath her grimy feet due to his outburst. Sam desperately wanted to avoid that fate, but it was hard to hold down her lunch when Tracer's disgusting were propped right onto her shoulder. They smelled like they hadn't been washed in weeks and probably hadn't, and Sam knew even without them touching her that they were waterlogged by her foul sweat. If she could just hold out for a week or so her tormentor would get bored of her and ask Mrs. Mercy for a new victim, but it was going to be a putrid hell until then. Not to mention even if she didn't snap but let the teasing distract her from the lessons, her grades would suffer and she could very well end up shrunken anyway.

It felt so unfair that her tormentor got to sit atop her desk and use her as a living footstool without any reprimand, but it was pointless to moan about the preferential treatment that Ms. Mercy's favorite girls got. Even though the school headmistress didn't seem too into the torture of tinies herself, she had no desire to besmirch the school's reputation with talk of the shrinking culture getting out. If Sam ever tried to complain about her situation she would quickly disappear, and meet an even worse fate then being a peppy girl's insole. Although what that would entail was hard to picture, especially listening to the muffled screams of her prior victims coming from her grungy socks. She doubted they were even green when Lena had bought them, but didn't dare ask.

Tracer grinned as she felt her new plaything seize up again, either the stench or the cries of the tinies smothered against her feet was chipping away at her resolve once more. She was an old hand to this routine by now, from the recently acquired and unbroken tinies she had stuffed in her socks to the atrocious footwear themselves, had been carefully selected to overpower her latest victim.  From time to time someone would come along who could bear through the torment without flinching, but unlike some of her compatriots she had no desire to waste time cracking the hard nuts when so many potential tinies were available. It felt a little wasteful to be targeting a girl when so many worthless boys were around, but their fate beneath their betters was practically sealed the moment they enrolled. The only reason to pick on one in class was to call dibs, and she didn't have her eye on any of them in particular at the moment. It was just Sam's bad luck really, Tracer was pretty sure she wouldn't be able to hold out. She'd just have to get used to her new place in life, Tracer would at least be merciful and make the transition quick; nonstop assignment beneath the feet of her new owner might seem harsh, but it was in her own best interest to forget her old size and start to enjoy serving her goddess...