Time-Out: Nancy's Dominion (Chapter 10)

“Good. You’re here,” Judy remarked to her son, though she didn’t look directly at him while busily thumbing away on her phone. Though she had one leg crossed over her knee when he entered the room, his arrival prompted her to plant both bare feet flat upon the rug. “Go on. You know what to do.”

Pathetically and cathartically at once, Scott did indeed know what to do. Ever the gracious hostess, Judy was always quick to offer up delicious refreshments and free use of the resident foot-kneading servant to any guests who entered her home. It was only a question of Scott keeping his composure, after having waited so long to satiate this twisted but necessary hunger. Now that he was back in Nancy’s presence, albeit clothed and a little taller than the last time, a wave of warming calm passed through him, as if he’d just stumbled across a source of fresh water after wandering parched in the wilderness. Simultaneously, however, Scott felt every nerve jump to high alert, with the same imagined shot of adrenaline that he sometimes sickeningly felt whenever a giant being plucked him up by the back of his shirt and let him dangle the equivalent of ten stories off the ground. Nevertheless, both gladly relieved and dizzily thrilled that the wait was over, he trudged immediately in Nancy’s direction.

Peculiarly, the woman hadn’t actually looked straight-on at Scott since the six-incher heeded his mother’s call, which was even stranger than the fact that she hadn’t come by the Stevens household in so long. Normally he felt her imperious gaze beaming upon him from the moment he came into view, no matter what size he was. Even if he didn’t have the guts to meet that gaze, he could still always sense the intensity of Nancy’s smirking desire to draw him near, as she figuratively undressed him with her eyes – or just predatorily gawked, if he was already literally naked. Certainly that whole month spent in her sensual toe-squeezing care had involved those constant stares, and he’d learned to revel in every minute of it.

But, for whatever reason, she broke with tradition today. Instead she glanced out the window, inspected the state of her manicured fingernails, then returned her attention to Judy alone as their previous conversation resumed, like he wasn’t even down here. For so many years, Scott had wished there was a way to make Nancy stop ogling his shrunken self, as he took the inevitable dreaded walk toward her massively looming high-heeled peds. Now, that wish had been unexpectedly granted, at the most inexplicable of times. Yet instead of feeling assuaged when Nancy failed to eye him up like a piece of candy, Scott only felt invisible. Empty. As if he’d abruptly miniaturized far below the actual one-inch limit on a standard PMRD, becoming so small that a dropped crumb would appear like a boulder to him, and the average comparatively-skyscraping person above wouldn’t even register that there was a living thing down here. Why, after everything that had happened between them, didn’t she want to even pay him the smallest acknowledging glimpse? Surely she wanted him back at her feet, too?

Still shambling silently toward Nancy with his head hung, while the two giantesses thunderously chit-chatted above, Scott instantly scolded himself for such disgracefully cringe-worthy thoughts. This woman had terrorized him and filled him with guilt for years, by mashing him into that grubby space beneath her toes and grinding him along a footprint-greasy stiletto insole every chance she got to claim him. Yet now for the first time ever, when Nancy finally didn’t act like some mad warrior-queen about to giddily mistreat her favorite concubine, Scott’s impulse was to worry she’d abandoned him in the same way as a lovesick divorcee? What the hell was wrong with him? This was to be a mutual consensual release of adult cravings between two oddly-complementary individuals, and nothing more. Scott would climb into Nancy’s shoe and reunite with her foot; he would debase himself appropriately for her, rub and kiss and suck at her soles until she was appeased, then he would allow himself to be gently trampled between her meaty toes all the way to a stenchy humiliatingly-pleasing climax. To assign this act any further weight than that, and certainly any honest-to-God feelings, would be a fatal mistake. And he knew it.

So Scott forcibly kept his cool, now almost in reaching distance of his gargantuan obsession’s seductively steep heels, both of which were firmly sheathed around her feet. Nancy still hadn’t taken off her shoes, or spoken a word of recognition toward him, or even looked down at his humble approach, but the little thing had chosen not to concern himself with those anomalies. He just had to do as she had done for that whole magical month spent below her, and behave as though this was all perfectly natural. As though he wasn’t laboring under a gnawing addiction to Nancy’s feet which had become so destructive in her absence that he’d taken instead to worshipping at Judy’s. His spine tingled, his mouth watered, his knees trembled, and his loins felt hair-trigger ready to salute their mistress at the first chance.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me, Judy. You can use him,” Nancy nonchalantly said to her friend, just as Scott knelt before the pointed toe sections of those two precious vessels, which remained resolutely upon her feet. That simple utterance paralyzed her six-inch-tall devotee in a way he never could’ve anticipated.

Did she really just say that?

“Are you sure?” Judy asked, sounding almost as surprised as her son. She knew all too well of her friend’s affinity for having Scott on massage duty. Though she had no idea now the extent to which Nancy and her once-reluctant plaything had taken their bizarre rapport into uncharted depths of debauchery, as the boy spent those four blissful drug-like weeks at one inch tall and eternally sweat-glued on the bottom of the cougar’s foot to buy his way toward another orgasm, using kisses far more passionate than he’d ever given his girlfriend Ella.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Nancy laughed. “I’m sure you’ve kept him busy enough around here, and I’m very comfortable already, believe me. Just hit the spa yesterday, actually. But you go right ahead and enjoy!”

Stricken dumb with confusion and loss, Scott finally dared crane his neck back to try and meet Nancy’s sightline, rather than fixating only on her shoes. He wasn’t sure whether he hoped she’d suddenly change her mind, or at least offer an explanation for this absurd change of heart. Still Nancy pretended as though only she and Judy were present in the room, except to refer to the shrunken inmate in conversation with the same importance of a Roomba.

“Suit yourself,” Judy shrugged, already having put this abnormality out of her mind. Though she didn’t look down at her offspring, either, a beckoning forefinger pointed down at her patiently waiting feet. “Over here, then, sweetie. Chop-chop.”

Mystified so profoundly that he almost had to wonder whether or not he was in a Twilight Zone-type dream right now, Scott pivoted blearily away from Nancy’s feet, after she’d just casually refused his services for the first time ever in all the years that he’d been regularly shrunken for shameful undersole discipline. Having now been deprived of the thing he’d been coveting for an eternal deeply-frustrated month away from Nancy, he chose to aggressively focus on keeping Judy gratified, as his mother helpfully arched both soles off the ground and flared her toes, to give her son access to every nook and cranny. But when Scott dropped to his knees and started caressing the beefy underbelly of his parent’s behemoth left foot while the two towering women merrily continued with their rapidfire back-and-forth above, he was able to tell right away that he couldn’t simply dismiss this turn of events, despite all his best efforts to convince himself it wasn’t a big deal.

As the seconds and minutes rolled by, knowing Nancy’s feet were literally right behind him, and yet she didn’t want him to paste himself hotly beneath them for some animalistic wrinkle-licking and toe-jacking inside her fragrant pump hull, his malaise only grew worse. Try as he might, that discontent quickly soured his arch-scrubbing motor skills. Unlike the stellar sole-smushing chiropractic sessions Scott had offered his giant mother over these recent weeks – putting in the gusto of an Olympic athlete, usually while naked and standing shorter than a thumpbad, with his slurp-happy lips and eager tongue pressed continuously to whatever raunchy swell of foot flesh she provided him next – the six-inch boy’s technique now manifested like a robot’s.