Time-Out: Nancy's Dominion (Chapter 8)

What was he doing, Scott furiously inquired within? Why had he started this? Why was he still going, even once he noticed? Why didn’t Judy make him stop, if he lacked the strength to stop himself? And why didn’t it feel twistedly horrifically wrong, instead of like slipping right back into a seasoned routine?

Still psychologically roaring at himself to quit following this addictive impulse, Scott persisted in his worshipful chore as if he’d never even left Nancy’s clutches. His tiny fingertips and taste buds glided with ease across the buttery under-curve of the giantess’s sole, exploring every undulating crease in the flesh as it took form via the balling of her monstrous toes. Having spent most of a decade inhaling the aroma of Judy’s feet while shrunken around this runty stature, the actual flavor which met his tongue upon physically tasting them for the first time didn’t come much as a surprise to Scott, though it was novel all the same. Considering the practice he’d now had at licking Nancy’s feet, no matter how leather-pungent or soggily moist she’d turned them after a day spent aggressively strutting in too-taut shoes, there was no offense taken now from the lightly-sweated zest of Judy’s sole terrain. Scott hardly even gagged at first, and after a few minutes of continuous lapping over his mother’s spacious foot, wasn’t bothered at all by the salty balmy tincture greeting his throat now. Any anguish he felt didn’t come from the oddly-digestible liquid musk frosted over her skin, but instead from his total failure to cease an unprompted action that probably meant his sanity ought to be questioned.

If Judy felt her diminutive son licking her foot – and Scott had no doubt that she could indeed feel it, considering the woman’s usual hyper-sensitivity to his every movement and effort while dominated at her feet – she gave no hint of disapproval, nor even a curious murmur in lieu of asking exactly what he was doing down there. She may have looked down at him again through the glass desk, but Scott was too humiliated now to crane his neck back again and risk making eye contact while his insectoid tongue was still glued against a pulpous sole wrinkle. And as the clearest signal that she had chosen to silently tolerate his unbidden open-mouthed worship of her foot, Judy’s opposite-side big toe never so much as shivered to possibly curtail its luxurious stroking against the one-inch thing’s back. If anything, that toe seemed to press a little harder once he started lapping and even puckering his lips for kisses: almost encouraging him to keep it up. Which may have nearly given Scott an ego defense for his actions here, if he convinced himself that it was Judy’s overbearing insistence (not his own) that “forced” him to keep tongue-bathing the grooved mural of undersole before him.

But Scott would never have believed himself, having just spent a whole month debasing himself at Nancy’s feet, and then falling back into the same sick habits less than an hour after returning home. It wasn’t fetishistic compulsion that magnetized his mouth to the bottom of his totalitarian parent’s foot: that much was clear. Never in his life, even once he gave in to Nancy’s shoe-trapping perversions, had Scott ever felt even an iota of desire to sensually devote himself at the altar of his own mom’s soles, and that fact was still true, despite this current damning evidence to the contrary. Yet it almost didn’t matter whose foot he was licking; the boy was still drawn, disturbingly and irresistibly, to subjugate himself this way at the lowest dirtiest province of a giantess’s body, while stripped to nothing and made smaller than a human thumb. What’s more, it felt great, and only made Scott salivate worse. His distorted libido remained at rest, and his unpredictable member thankfully didn’t spring to life. But that was a pathetically small comfort, when he could otherwise do nothing to stop himself from smooching and suckling at every juicy flesh-divot he could reach upon Judy’s peachy arch texture. The goose bumps came in waves now while he passionately licked, as did the radiant warmth at Scott’s core which invigorated him to keep going, even in the middle of doing something that so existentially repulsed him – and from which, he feared, there might not be a chance to come back.

What the hell had Nancy done to him? With living lickable proof that he had not shed the sultry woman’s influence once he’d escaped her presence, as he’d so confidently and idiotically believed at first, Scott sincerely began to wonder whether he was completely broken now.

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            In hindsight, maybe healing his psyche after a near-continuous one-man underfoot orgy at Nancy Dugan’s giant feet for the past month would not be as easy for Scott as aggressively telling himself that everything was normal again and then expecting it to come true. Even three days later now since returning home, he had no choice but to admit to himself that something inside was still amiss, and it wasn’t going to be solved just by brute-forcing his own subconscious back into compliance. Having deluded himself into believing he could jump back into his ordinary shrunken house-arrested life as lackadaisically as flipping on a light switch, Scott now spent his hours of menial housework consumed by thoughts of the debased all-too-fulfilling revelries he’d savored at Nancy’s soles for those transformative weeks – and now had unintentionally enjoyed under his mother’s feet, too, as apocalyptically humiliating as that was.

Though as the smallest possible of consolations, Judy didn’t speak a word to him about what had happened under her desk when they arrived back home, nor during any of their subsequent encounters. At least not yet. For no less than an hour during that first underfoot reunion, she’d indulged herself with her one-inch-tall eldest’s massage services, rubbing at his naked back with her toe while he kneaded, nibbled, kissed, and licked his way across the lushly wrinkled canvases of both her roomy soles. By the end of that unorthodox welcome-home ritual, Scott had bitterly accepted there was no stopping himself for now, at least not while he was already so ferociously in the middle of making mouth-love to his own mother’s monumental feet. It had to be later, in solitude, so he could purge this damaged part of himself once and for all. So he kept on bathing and groping her sole with the abandon of a lesser life form, which might’ve been the fairer way to describe himself now anyway, while Judy’s big toe encouragingly pushed him closer. Like being caught in a metaphorical riptide, there was no point in trying to fight the current; the best Scott could do was just ride out this insanity to its turbulent end, and hope there was something left of himself by the end to begin making that long journey back to where he’d started.

Yet when the act was definitively finished, and Judy suddenly stood up from her desk and marched out of the office without another word nor a glance down at her shocked stripped miserably-ashamed boy below, he couldn’t say with any certainty that this wouldn’t ever happen again. In fact, the thought of never doing it again made him feel incomplete. Crouched on his haunches, exhausted yet invigorated, small and vulnerable and lost as could be, Scott was charged with a nameless purpose. He wanted something – needed something – but couldn’t point to it in this moment. It definitely wasn’t worshipping his gigantic parent’s feet themselves, though he’d just done that for the last hour without either crying or puking. Still, the focus and thrill he’d gained even from that horrifically undignified act of snogging and crease-slurping all over the musty dew-dampened bottoms of Judy’s massive feet had fed Scott’s essence, in the same way he imagined artists or philanthropists meant it when they simply had to go out in the world and make their mark upon it. Only in his case, that highly-specific thirst of his was apparently only satiated (thanks to a mind-knotting month of depravity under Nancy) by dropping to his shrunken knees and sucking the perspired shoe flavor from a maternal giantess’s sole dimples like honey from the comb.