Deviant Downsizing (Chapter 9)

At last, Mason knew he couldn’t just go on with life this way, faking through his deviant training with Lori to stay trapped forevermore as an impotent one-inch nothing, all while eaten up inside by unquenched libido for the giantess’s ripe after-work peds. And so, biting the bullet in terms of elevated risk as well as embarrassment factor, he made the choice to venture off the safety of his table while his mother was away at work. Traversing the house took a while at this size, but luckily he had hours still before she returned, and he couldn’t ignore the need anymore. Even more fortunate, Lori had evidently gone with a different pair of shoes today, leaving her well-trodden olive-green slip-ons carelessly cast by the front door. Despite their lack of use today, though, Mason knew she’d worn them yesterday – and with feet as superhumanly overheated as hers, pumping out mawkish fumes and oily perspiration in repugnant droves for hours on end, that dirty presence tended to linger. Not to mention, it was far better than the foot famine he was enduring now.

Entranced by long-stifled arousal, Mason didn’t hesitate, clambering right inside Lori’s empty flat and flinging himself face-down upon the bedraggled wear-warped terrain of the shoe’s insole. Sure enough, his hunch proved correct, as he inhaled as hard as he could, and was promptly sent into queasy convulsions from the concentrated raunch which immediately invaded his lungs. While the briny essence stuck in here was of course a weaker strain than what he’d smelled and lapped directly from the beefy-heeled source in times past, it was still far from the diluted stagnancy that would probably be found in the shoe of someone who wasn’t constantly induced to rain sweat through her pink-blushed soles due to pyrokinetic self-control. Despite the ever-present almost-dizzying disgust, it felt like a wonderful homecoming.

Mason’s skin prickled with goose bumps and his loins automatically tightened from excitement just after that singular snort. Rolling over, he caught his breath, still shivering and coughing like he’d caught a throatful of dry pepper, then went right back in for sniffly seconds. The scent in here was expectedly leather-laden, redolent of every crusted sweat stain blessing the yellowing pressure-rippled inlay, with heavier dashes of garden dirt and fabric mildew further embittering the stamped-in flavor of Lori’s sole which hung so thick in the atmosphere. It tasted like an ancient parmesan rind on the verge of molding hard as concrete. Because the shoe had been lying here overnight, this stench lacked its usual ever-present partner of extreme heat, since Mason wasn’t sampling it straight from the giantess’s hyper-balmy flesh. Nonetheless, even without that sweltering temperature from Lori’s absent foot to help melt him down into the usual excess of revulsion and arousal, the nose-crippling punch of that liquid-branded leftover stink inside the slip-on was so vivid that his mind immediately filled in the blanks for him, simulating the usual sauna-like intensity. His imagination also accounted for the lack of sweaty downpour in here, since the stuff normally soaked through his clothes and turned his own skin as raisin-wrinkly as his mother’s foot, by triggering a Pavlovian response while he inhaled the harsh insole that made him feel like he was coated head-to-toe in her buttery-slick sweat.

Mason sniffed harder and harder, writhing and retching from that boggy sting in his lungs, even while he was also salivating and pants-tenting with the exact same zeal. Like clockwork, he began nibbling and tonguing at the half-flaked malodor-packed ground inside Lori’s vacant shoe. Then he crawled steadily around the ovular perimeter of her gigantic impact-cratered footprint, wherever that sunken shape had grayed out the insole as though the outer material had been seared clean off with a flamethrower, rather than simply etched away by thousands upon thousands of sweat-drenched steps. Every fetid salt-foul gulp of her unnaturally powerful undersole perfume that he took in, whether by a head-spinning snuff or a tongue-crackling lick, just increased the boy’s exhilaration. This was a badly-needed reunion, more so than Mason realized before he’d climbed within her shoe – even if the rush wasn’t quite as deliriously fulfilling as from worshipping Lori’s weighty heel itself, this would scratch the itch.

Having let himself fall so deeply under this spell of the flat arena’s rich sweat-dried squalor, savoring each taste of old greased-in pestilence while he dragged his shrunken tongue in circles across the battered inlay, Mason had inadvertently closed off his senses to the outside world. What reason was there, after all, to concern himself with the silent stillness of the empty house beyond, when Lori wasn’t due to come back for at least four hours yet? Though just as personally ashamed now as he’d felt the first time he made out with the bottom of Lori’s foot while masturbating and eye-watering from the stink, Mason at least felt safe to do as he pleased for as long as he needed. Since his mother wasn’t here now, sleeping or otherwise, there was no reason to hold his breath or control his movements so she wasn’t alerted to his licentious revelry down here among her grungy underfoot leftovers. He could just be himself, completely and disgracefully, until he’d gotten all this craving out of his system.

Practically drunk now from that leather-linty aroma, and feeling the collected grit he’d licked up from Lori’s insole now crystallizing on his cheeks like coarse seasoning, Mason was just about to yank his pants down and find a bowled toepad impression to hump. He’d already come this far. But those plans were abruptly thrown on the backburner when his mother – shockingly and inexplicably back home far earlier than she should’ve been – shoved her behemoth size-14 ped inside the shoe, right on top of her hunkered inch-tall son.

Mason was instantaneously flattened beneath a tidal wave of forward-driving sole brawn, much like he’d been voluntarily postured while smelling and slurping begrimed smut out of the insole texture before like a greedy sweat pest. Except now he had no choice except to be forcibly pinned spread-eagle face-down under the momentous pressure of Lori’s damp heat-pluming arch. Everything went pitch-black and numbingly tight in the disorienting span of a split-second, the way he imagined it might feel to get sucker-punched by a professional boxer, only Mason didn’t knock out cold in the same breath. This collision below the giantess’s naked sole was so all-consuming that he might’ve struggled to comprehend what had even occurred, but after so many secret occasions spent kissing and adoring Lori’s vinegary muck-oozing foot flesh, he would’ve known that sensation anywhere. Even if, for the first time ever, he was experiencing it while blindly and airlessly squashed prostrate beneath its elephantine mass.

In the heart-stopping seconds that followed, after undeniably accepting that he was currently being worn inside his unexpected giant mother’s shoe, Mason next illogically jumped to a conclusion borne of pure guilt. She’d done this on purpose, he presumed; he’d been caught red-handed enjoying his disturbing fantasy, and now his mother was (rightfully) teaching him a lesson he’d never forget. But then reality settled in, and Mason knew that couldn’t be the case. Lori’s foot had shoved inside her flat with such breakneck ferocity, grinding and toe-clenching while she crammed the full length of her roomy sole into place, that it was obvious she’d done so via mindless second nature. She had no idea he was in here now. Which, even though it meant Mason’s fetish would remain secret just a little longer, was probably the far worse outcome.