Deviant Downsizing (Chapter 12)

Considering her son’s answer, Lori thoughtfully flexed and curled her toes as they rested at the table’s edge, though Mason willed himself not to look at them. Still, even as he purposefully avoided gawping at her juggernaut feet while they went through this bizarre interrogation, there was no escaping their ever-smoldering heat or the freshly-blighted stench, since she’d only just peeled her flats off from another hectic day at school. Even from a distance, Mason felt that superpowered warmth altering the tabletop atmosphere like a sunbaked beach, and tasted that trace of gunky sole-brined tincture souring his personal oxygen worse than ammonia. And since his tiny body had recently conditioned itself to anticipate good things in congress with those overwhelming and disgusting elements, he was already made to blush, feeling a sickly stir in his innards and a twitch between his legs.

“Maybe I should’ve been more specific…” Lori drawled.

She hadn’t started ragefully bellowing at him, demanding to know why he’d let his freakish desires take over, so maybe she wasn’t as aware of Mason’s sins as he feared. So where was this going, he nervously wondered?

“…how did you feel? When it happened?” she continued with obvious discomfort, pursing her lips and shaking her head, but pushed through the guilt. “You know. When you were… stuck inside my shoe, under my foot, before I noticed you down there, because I wasn’t paying attention like I should have been. What did that do to you? I hate to make you go over all this again, kiddo. But you have to believe me, it’s important.”

Mason nodded, slowly realizing where this might be going, and so again he answered her as if he had nothing to hide: “Okay. It… didn’t feel very good. Because of your power, everything felt hot, like I was burning up. Hot and… dirty. And wet. I was scared. I couldn’t tell what was going on, or how to stop it. I didn’t know if you were going to find me or not, and if you didn’t, I… I… well, I didn’t know if I could take it.”

“I see. Thank you for telling me. I… know that must’ve been hard. God, I still can’t believe I let that happen,” Lori strained, hanging her head and wincing with renewed guilt over her assumed responsibility for her son’s in-shoe suffering. Naturally this only made Mason feel worse, too, knowing there was no way to absolve his mother of her remorse without also giving away his toxic secret, but he at least had to try and ease her woes.

“Mom, seriously. It’s fine. It’s not your fault. If I just hadn’t gone walking around by myself, or if I’d already figured out how to control my stupid powers, this never would’ve happened. So stop blaming yourself, okay? It was a dumb accident, and it’ll never happen again.”

“Well, that’s… actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” Lori apprehensively stated, fidgeting from nerves.

Only this time Mason could sense it wasn’t outright maternal guilt plaguing her, but trepidation over whatever was next on her mind. She prayerfully wrung her knuckles together, taking a deep bracing breath, while her toes bunched and spread more feverishly at the cusp of the coffee table. Mason also swore he felt more frequent flare-ups of his parent’s sole-steaming power surges emanating away as a byproduct of her increased anxiety. But why?

“Oh?”

“Yes. Because the thing is, after I talked it through with everyone, we realized that all deviants need a major event to trigger their abilities. An emotional jolt, or physical duress, or just an extreme sensation – sometimes all of those at once. The size of the event varies from person to person. It didn’t take very much for me to find my fire. I had it easy. But, some of my friends? They had to put themselves through a lot to access their full potential, until they finally discovered the right way to activate their powers. For some of them, it was the only way. Like I told you before: you’re not weak, for having such a tough time making it happen. It just took us a while to find the key to drawing out your powers. And now, I think we have.”

“We… h-have?”

“Of course. It’s my feet,” Lori declared, still quietly anguished but staying strong, as if this was the most obvious solution in the world.

At last it became impossible for Mason to keep those prodigious beefy-bellied size-14s out of his vantage, as the giantess stopped merely encroaching at the table’s edge, but now pushed them both fully up. Lori didn’t prop her heels there with her toes pointed to the ceiling in readiness to relax, however, but instead fanned out her enormous bare peds sideways on the surface and pressed them heel-to-heel, which immediately created a lengthy double fortress wall of wrinkly sweat-glimmering sole flesh constructed right before her dumbfounded inch-tall child. She scrunched those dexterous digits again, causing the twin canvases of rosy-blotched underfoot real estate to animate with mesmerizing activity.

Just that simple toe-wagging gesture re-furrowed dozens of clay-malleable dimples at once, while casting a juicy glint off the many rivulets of sweat that were now permitted to roll down the resting width of her ample arches. Suddenly planted in much closer proximity to Mason – purposefully by Lori, for the first time ever – the already-tangible climate and after-school rankness of her feet turned even more overpowering. His eyes boggled and his knees quaked, while he was steam-rolled over by the usual now-instinctive gluts of squeamish disgust and randy appetite.

But especially now, as Mason was hyper-aware of his mother’s sympathetic but determined expression to test her oddly-logical theory about the connection between his powers and her feet, he fought with every fiber of his being to keep any sign of affectedness from showing. It felt like she was staring down at him through a microscope, scrutinizing his every flinch and facial tic, while presenting him with the two brawny-soled objects that unfortunately (unbeknownst to her) held the greatest psychosexual thrall over him out of anything else in existence. He knew it was beyond vital that he not react.

Still, even struggling like his life depended on it to behold Lori’s massive fuming sweat-farmed feet with the mildly grossed-out indifference of a non-fetishist, their pull over Mason was simply too powerful. Keeping steady for a few seconds, he abruptly gave in, wheezing and sniffling from the potency of that glottal stink, and staggered so hard that he collapsed onto his back, quaking from adrenaline – though this posture at least made it easier to hide the now-full mast bulge in his pants.