Time-Out: Nancy's Dominion (Chapter 9)

Maybe it was just inevitable, then, that Scott’s first time tending to his leviathan mother’s feet with his tongue instead of just his hands wasn’t also the final time. For a whole day after that last encounter, as he dusted and mopped his way across the expanse of the Stevens household with a toothbrush and unsuccessfully tried to wrestle his mental state back to equilibrium, he consciously hoped that Judy wouldn’t demand any more of her son’s “specialty” services until long after he’d worked out this post-Nancy trauma. Yet when she called him to her in the living room and insisted that he help her relax just after she’d kicked away her freshly-worn sandals, a burst of unwanted elation when off in Scott’s chest, trapping him in a devoted trance as he robotically sprinted across the floor to reach her looming toes. This time thinking even less of the consequences or of fending off his twisted new instincts, the boy pampered the pinkish brawn of Judy’s bare soles the same way he used to do only for five minutes this time before devolving back into the same wanton techniques Nancy had instilled in him. His mouth opened against the sumptuous ripely-misted wall of his parent’s naked foot, his tongue spiraled to invite in those choking yet savory flavors, and his shuddering little hands entered the same passionate fondling fervor as last time.

Once again, Judy didn’t breathe a word of protest, nor move to shame him. As if their dynamic had always been this way, and just picked right back up where it left off before Nancy took him. As if there wasn’t a thing on Earth remotely wrong with a humbled naked legally-shrunken boy heartily making out with the entirety of his own mom’s hulking lightly-filthy peds. Instead, she switched on the TV and let it buzz in the background while she fired off emails and caught up with friends on the phone, and the whole time did nothing to interrupt or even playfully impede Scott’s progress. At times, she’d again press a toe into his back, encouraging him to hunker even closer against the vibrant bulwark of her sideways-tilted soles. When he tended to her toes themselves, excavating his tongue all the way into those fragrant doughy crevices between, Judy sometimes nudged into him with the ball of her opposite foot, until she’d wedged half his body into the warm fleshy crevice. This time, Scott’s theoretical opposition to his own willful actions was even weaker, and the voices telling him to stop were soon silenced. So he spent another hour crawling all over both of his mother’s huge all-too-magnanimous feet, rubbing out knots in her musculature and gobbling up flecks of gummy grit wherever he voyaged, and feeling fine about it in spite of the spine-curling embarrassment.

That nameless fulfillment was temporarily sated again, even while Scott could tell that it would surely return before Judy had even finished with him this time. He was going to do this again. He needed to. And when Judy once more stood up from the couch and strolled away, still like nothing was wrong, it struck him at last what he was missing. Nancy. Sick as it made him, there was no denying that this new void within could only be cured by feeding the quasi-addiction to serving at her giant feet which the woman had gifted onto him. Even if it was just a taste of that same decadent thrill she’d first forcibly and then voluntarily put him through, even fleetingly and on rare occasions, it had become clear that Scott couldn’t go forward in peace without the promise of dutiful satisfaction again beneath her soles.

How moronic and borderline-deranged he’d been to ever believe he could just cut that fixation out of his life like a tumor the second he was no longer in Nancy’s possession. No, like it or not, this need was just a piece of him now. And Scott decided that if he wanted to keep it healthily in check, he had no choice but to accept that sometimes – only for a little while, and in controlled doses – he would have to surrender himself again to the seductive middle-aged ever-pedicured giantess’s enchanting thrall. The alternative was to stupidly suppress it and eventually allow the call of the underfoot wild to take over his entire life. Or, in this case, give him no choice but to get his fix by worshipping the feet of the same woman who’d raised him and now was working so hard to keep him permanently incarcerated inside her shoes. That part couldn’t go on.

But still it did anyway. No longer in control of even the minimal autonomy he once enjoyed while kept below a foot tall and locked within the walls of his childhood home, Scott spent a week after that powerlessly dedicating himself to Judy’s feet. She’d invite him into the office, or to kneel in front of the couch, or set him at the end of her bed, or even cushion him inside a patent-leather high heel. And he would again give himself over to her wholly – caressing firmly with both hands, writhing his limbs every which way, squeezing his body between her toes, inhaling the raunchy aroma, kissing each skin cell that touched his face, and probing his bug-like tongue along every divot and pleat in that strong moist puffy-textured slab of maternal undersole real estate. This wouldn’t last forever, though, Scott told himself. He only had to stave off his demented new whims until Nancy came back into his life to give him what he really craved, in an intense but short-lived quantity. Like taking medicine. And knowing Nancy as well and as long as he had, that never took too long to happen. Somehow or other, she always managed to invite herself into any situation she pleased, particularly if there was even a small chance of getting to put Scott back inside her shoes.

Only now, for the first time in his life, that activity would not only be welcome, but necessary for him to go on. Of course, Scott hadn’t seen Nancy since her babysitting duties over him ended, nor had he even heard her voice on the phone while Judy chatted away with business associates and socialite buddies alike. He used to dread hearing her husky not-so-coy voice calling out to him, asking whether he was going to come out and greet his favorite Auntie Nancy. His stomach used to fold inward with anxiety at the feeling of the floor shuddering from her approaching footfalls, knowing he’d soon experience those same impacts from inside her shoe, usually with his dick embedded between her toes for a sweaty pump and his mouth wrapped around the underbelly of a musky toe like a ripe apple too large to bite. And finally, he used to turn inside-out from equal parts loathing for Nancy and his own self, as he succumbed yet again to the irresistibly flirtatious magnetism of her feet mercilessly squelching yet-more unwanted pleasure and devotion from him.

But not now. Today, Scott was more than ready to give in to a compromise that would’ve once horrified him to his very soul, but which had clearly become the only and best choice over a gradual breakdown into daily subhuman allegiance to his mother’s feet instead. Though he’d never admit it aloud, and would feign resistance as long as possible, he needed Nancy to dominate him again at her feet, until he was free of all these hangups at last and could resume being his real self. That was that.

Nearly another month had passed since Scott had laid eyes on Nancy, which in fact was an abnormal length of time, considering she was Judy’s best friend and ordinarily so involved with his mother’s political work. Such a break away from her would’ve once been a precious gift, but now it was only a burden, as his ache for her feet grew worse with every passing night. Yet the day finally arrived, without warning, and much to Scott’s well-hidden jubilation. Having been regrown to six inches and dressed in normal clothes again so as to make him a more efficient shrunken janitor, he was called out to the porch, expecting to be only in the company of Judy. Instead, Scott found himself looking up at both his mother and Nancy, dressed in a slinky red summertime blouse and bold figure-complimentary skirt, with her platinum-dyed hair and ravishing makeup professionally done.