Deviant Downsizing (Chapter 8)

            Since Mason had been waiting most of his eighteen years of existence to find out his deviant powers, or if he was even a deviant at all, it would’ve been fair to assume that the sudden activation of his yet-restrained size-altering ability was bound to be the most transformative event of his life by a longshot. And while that occasion was still the winner, its personal significance was closely contested for him by this direly-secret fetishistic awakening which had unfolded just two weeks afterward. Unlike his drastic stature shift down to one inch tall, the obsession over his oblivious giant mother’s indecently sweaty feet was kept invisible to the naked eye and tightly bottled inside Mason. But to him, this unlocked fantasy felt no less affecting to his daily life than abruptly becoming a bug-sized dependent.

            It had now been a whole month onward since that fateful day when he’d given into temptation by sniffing, snogging, and jerking off while self-subjugated at Lori’s gargantuan sweat-basted heel. And every passing hour since then, he felt just as beholden to the limitations of his inch-high scope as he did to his perverted need for those stinky slime-weeping size-14 peds. Still no progress had been made to regrow himself, and though the boy still tried his best while Lori was away at work, he had to guiltily admit to himself that his efforts to wrest control of his dormant powers had taken a lower priority, now that something else even more appealing and toejam-smeared had claimed dominion over his thoughts. From the moment he woke up, to the instant he fell asleep again, whether he was in Lori’s presence or not, Mason’s every puny thought was influenced in some way by this paraphilic thirst, and only kept in check by the paranoid terror of his parent ever finding out what an immoral foot-sucking little freak she’d raised. Still, after taking that first successful leap to indulge himself while she slept on the couch, he’d since then jumped at every opportunity to place himself inconspicuously near to her nude inferno-roasty soles.

The giantess didn’t take a post-school nap here on the sofa every day, unfortunately for Mason, but he gradually dared to venture closer to her feet whenever she absentmindedly propped them onto his table to tell him about her day, which allowed himself to take in the summery heat and ribaldly sour stench, even from a polite distance. Then whenever she did slip into a quick power-slumber, he was always ready, sneaking closer and hurling himself into a bow before her heel, then furiously licking away the zesty moisture and tugging himself to completion as his miniscule form was gradually drenched in the unconscious Lori’s humid undersole juices. A month into this sick practice now, Mason had become well-familiar with the length of his mother’s naps, and could even read the slightest toe-wiggle or sleepy lip-smack from her as a warning precursor to his time running out. He never took any chances, efficiently satisfying his desires and then bolting off to bathe away the evidence right as she groggily woke up with a smile – happily unaware that her shrunken offspring was barely dedicating any time these days to regrowing himself so he could resume ordinary life out of hiding, but instead daydreaming and scheming every minute about the next chance he’d have to worship her sloppy soles.

On some level, in fact, Mason realized that he’d not only deprioritized his once-desperate endeavor to regain his human stature, but was actually reluctant to do so at all. He’d almost stopped trying for the time being. Not that he wanted to stay this tiny forever; he knew eventually he’d have to figure this mess out and go back to normal, so that he was no longer physically in danger of getting squashed every day, nor placing himself and his deviant mother under possible suspicion by the mutant-hating populace. Still, irrational as it may have been, Mason dreaded doing anything to upset the delicate balance of disgust-addled sexual paradise he’d accidentally stumbled upon here in this “new normal” routine with Lori. If he mustered the will to regrow himself now, but still didn’t have enough control over his powers to shrink back down again to a size that let him immerse so deeply in his lascivious fascination with his titanic mother’s feet, he might never again be able to enjoy this complicated heavenly-hellish phenomenon of nauseous yet dick-hardening gratification at her damp heels.

Yes, Mason knew, he could still technically risk enjoying her soggy size-14s from his “real” height, if he ever made it back there, but it just wouldn’t be the same, and he knew it. For starters, the risk of being caught would immeasurably increase, given how difficult it would be to hide himself behind her foot any longer, or to disguise the sensations of his nose pressed to her meaty arch for a rank whiff or his tongue gliding up her sweat-dripping instep. Plus, he knew his incredibly runty size had exponentially increased his sensitivity to every variety of stimuli. Everything he saw, touched, smelled, and tasted in this larger-than-life world was a hundredfold more potent now. Which in the case of Lori’s ruddy-rose ever-steaming perspiration factory feet, meant that Mason was treated to an overwhelmingly sensual and utterly stomach-turning wonderland of scum-grubby provocations every time he came near. The idea of losing this hyper-bittersweet experience, so soon after he’d discovered its magic, was unthinkable to him. For as long as humanly (or deviantly) possible, he had to keep this situation going, without upsetting the status quo.

But inevitably, things couldn’t just stay the same indefinitely. Lori’s worry over her boy’s continued inch-tall status for this past month and a half had understandably become more apparent to him lately. Clearly stressed from Mason’s possibly-permanent vulnerability as an inch-tall creature, as well as the complexities of keeping his deviant status hidden from any prying eyes, she’d taken on personal responsibility for helping him command his powers by any means necessary. After consulting with a long-time deviant ally from across the country, Lori began spending every evening after work coaching her boy with a variety of mental exercises and physical trials, in hopes of triggering his body into full control of its size. These rigorous tests of course led nowhere, just like those he’d done on his own, particularly while Mason was secretly failing on purpose, and so her maternal fretting accordingly worsened.

Most upsetting for him, though, aside from letting down his mother, was Lori’s sudden switch-up in routine. No longer coming home to relax and nap on the sofa with her filthy feet propped before his dollhouse abode, in easy range for a stealthy underfoot orgy, instead she sat exclusively upright over the coffee tabletop and launched directly into another doomed-to-fail lesson in unshrinking him. Just like that, unable to get anywhere close to her heels without raising suspicions, Mason’s daily access to this newfound odor-grimy fetish drug was gone. Pathetically, even while he tried to brush it off and halfheartedly obeyed every shot-in-the-dark method that Lori suggested for stimulating his powers into full bloom, he couldn’t help but mourn the loss of her monumental feet in all their putrescent fluid-sopped glory. He’d let himself get addicted to the most humiliating thing conceivable, and now he was suffering withdrawal from it, dragging his already-sober mood even lower into the dirt.