Time-Out: Nancy's Dominion (Chapter 7)

For the first half hour of the massage, Judy did very little to acknowledge her son’s exertion below the desk. This, too, was highly normal. Often, Scott might spend most of a full day in all but constant contact with his mom’s tremendous soles – cleansing and fondling whatever underfoot anatomy he could touch like a one-inch-high personal butler, then wrenching and squirming in weary reticence while she wore him about inside a stuffy sweat-farming shoe. And still she might not acknowledge him with more than a single smirking comment about his bare-minimum adequacy as an attendant to her toes. Today, though, as she received not only the first service from her shrunken son that she’d enjoyed in a whole month, but also objectively the most skillfully vigorous massage that he’d provided to her in at least a year if not longer, it seemed Judy couldn’t quite remain so stonily aloof.

Above, Scott heard his mother start to croon and murmur under her breath with obvious pleasure, even if she was muting it to some degree. Though Judy’s digits already flexed at random idle intervals, over time he noticed her foot began to twitch and almost shudder at various junctures from the apparent satisfaction of his endeavors. She didn’t speak to him, even now, but out of his upper peripheral vision, Scott could’ve sworn he caught his giant mother peering down at him through the glass surface of her desk – not just a cursory glance, as she sometimes did, but actively watching him for an unusual string of seconds as he spiritedly rubbed her foot. Studying him. Though as usual, even from those lengthy scrutinizing stare-downs, he couldn’t quite guess at whatever his enigmatic mega-parent might be thinking.

So Scott put that attention from his humongous mother out of mind, as he so often did, and focused only on the task at hand. His well-trained concentration was so intense that it may as well not even have been another real person he was servicing now, nor was this soft puttied edifice of arch flesh an actual human foot, but instead just an abstract surface of lukewarm scent-wafting texture. Or at least he could keep up that mental stasis for a while, until it wasn’t just Judy’s furtive stare-down or her muted mutters of satisfied comfort that told him she was genuinely appreciating his handiwork now, rather than just keeping him down there because she could (as he often suspected was her primary reason for planting her bug-sized offspring in front of her mammoth toes).

Quietly enough that Scott didn’t even notice her approach until it had already made contact, Judy brought her opposite foot in closer behind him. It revolved carefully, pressing her sole flush to the carpet again, while the beefy orbed pad of her plush big toe pushed into a gentle yet firm embrace with his bare backside. That unexpected touch caused her inch-high attendant to stumble forth by another half-pace, nearly causing him to pancake against the bottom of the titanic foot he was currently massaging. Still, that bulky digit didn’t withdraw, and made it clear that brush wasn’t an accident, as Judy idly commenced petting Scott’s meager back with her largest toe.

Now all but sandwiched in by his gigantic mother’s two feet, the boy was given momentary pause. Though somewhat rare, this was far from the first time Judy had bestowed a compensatory “massage” on him while he toiled at her peds, simultaneously easing a fraction of his exhaustion while also rubbing in her utter superiority by toe-toying with his body in the same way she might treat a pebble or a raised tuft of the rug. It wasn’t the embarrassment factor of having his nude back stroked by Judy’s toe while caressing her opposite sole that made Scott flinch, however. Just as soon as he’d shed the personality-warping haze of Nancy Dugan’s bondage, he was eerily reminded of it all over again by his own mother’s unexpected touch. Nancy, of course, had done this to him almost constantly – usually right after a lengthy worship-fest while stamped down in one of her pumps, and immediately preceding those same fondling toe-tips grazing against his already-stimulated loins. So maybe he’d been foolish to believe he could cleanly banish all thoughts or memories of the last month from the moment he left his former hostess’s home.

But Scott didn’t let that heartbeat-skipping hiccup of déjà vu distract him for more than a beat. As Judy’s big toe continued its skillfully controlled swirl on his back, he dug in his heels more firmly against the carpet fibers, braced both hands upon the sideways surface of her other immense sole to keep from being smushed up against it, and then continued his good work. Demeaning as it often was to be touched by any giant while in the middle of serving their feet – this gesture from Judy felt more akin to an owner petting the family dog, rather than some kind of equal repayment – Scott had to objectively recognize that it didn’t feel awful. In fact, it was begrudgingly pleasant. Brutal as she so often chose to be with her son, particularly whenever he misbehaved, Judy occasionally showed herself capable of well-calibrated finesse. Such as right now, while she let the plump underbelly of her big toe scrub itself against the shrunken inmate’s back just tenderly enough amidst the cautious flesh-sweeping pressure to make him feel the alleviating benefits of this unorthodox rubdown, but without knocking him over like a domino.

Irritatingly to Scott, he even noticed goose bumps prickling along his bare skin after his mother’s foot had cuddled gratefully upon his body for a while. He also felt a certain over-relaxed warmth washing through his core that again regretfully reminded him of how natural it ultimately felt for him to spend almost every waking moment of the previous weeks with Nancy, plastered naked against the crescent of her sole with his tongue out while her toes twiddled his junk. With no other way to distract himself from these troublingly crossed-wire reactions, since Judy definitely wasn’t going to set him free until she’d made up for lost time, Scott endeavored harder than ever to bury himself in sole-coddling duty: not because he wanted to impress his mother, but because he feared the possibility (however small) that his confused body just might activate certain horrifically-unwanted responses if he enjoyed this too much. Still, regardless of the boy’s intent, it seemed Judy was pleased with his performance, as she carried on with her business at the desk above, while her tantalizingly pillowy toe-bulge refused to stop polishing Scott’s back.

Out of necessity, he let himself get lost in the almost-mesmerizing dance of his shrunken hands kneading in feverish figure-eights across every curve and wrinkle of Judy’s bountiful sole padding. He detached himself emotionally, mentally, and soon even physically from what he was doing, allowing his arms to operate the massage on autopilot. Much to Scott’s dizzied relief, that paranoid fear of accidentally provoking a stir in his crotch never came true, even though he was unavoidably suffused with the same alluring sensations that had characterized his whole month of being tangled skin-to-skin with Nancy’s toes. It seemed he was safe. So great was Scott’s do-or-die focus on multitasking the massage on his humongous parent’s meaty arch and the suppression of his own hypothetical if far-fetched arousal, however, that his overall bodily awareness soon lapsed, like highway hypnosis. And somewhere within the span of that lapse, his lips parted and his tongue pinned hard against Judy’s monolithic foot for a habitual lick.

The first sickening realization, when Scott finally caught himself, was that he genuinely couldn’t say whether he’d only been lapping at his colossal mother’s bare sole for a matter of seconds, or whole minutes now. Though an even worse revelation followed immediately after, when all basic logic and deeply-stored dignity screamed at him to stop that second, yet he didn’t follow that all-too-reasonable internal advice. Even once fully conscious again of everything his miniature body was doing, besides just his hardworking hands and his dormant nethers, Scott kept on doing what he was doing. Strangely, this felt like the slow motion effect just before a car crash occurred, once the mistake had already been made and all that remained was to await the metal-crunching impact. Except of course Scott could stop this, if he forced himself, and he knew that all too well. Yet he didn’t. With his pulse thumping in his ears, his temple perspiring, and his skin still bristling with goose bumps while Judy’s big toe continued stroking against his backside, Scott let his tongue ply at that smushy wall of humid semi-fragrant maternal sole flesh just as energetically as his palms.