Deviant Downsizing (Chapter 6)

Right then, seasick off his giant parent’s heel, awash in his own guilty embarrassment just as well as her hard-earned perspiration, Mason reached another unfortunate little revelation. Or rather, he surrendered to one. There was no way he could stop now. Mason had convinced himself that he might eternally purge himself of this disturbingly taboo attraction he felt toward Lori’s feet if only he could get closer while she slept, let the heat roll over him, snuff up that broiled miasma until he almost went cross-eyed, and finally get the horrid privilege of rubbing that sweat-soppy surface with his own two hands. But he still wanted more. Just as those fiery internal flares were slow-pulsing out of the giantess’s heel, Mason felt a similarly palpable throb ticking inside his whole inch-tall body. Not only out of his fully-tented crotch, but beneath his skin and down every extremity. He had to take this venture yet further and satiate a very specific need he didn’t even know was living inside him until he was already bowed here, close enough to claim it.

Any other month of his life prior, Mason would’ve never dreamed of doing something so twisted as this – not with his caring good-hearted mother, and certainly not at her filthy pyrokinetically-steamed feet. But he felt like a different person than he did two weeks ago, having been stripped of all dignity and ordinary status by his own ill-timed deviant power, plus more-literally stripped of almost all height or capability. Mason felt lesser now: frustrated and pity-partying to a rock-bottom low. Desperate to retake any possible control over himself, no matter how fucked-up it was, as well as to taste even a shred of much-needed relief amidst his personal disempowered depression, he made his choice.

So without further ado, hating himself for it even as he was simultaneously aroused like never before, Mason bitterly undid his pants and yanked them down his thighs, at once crouching half-nude behind the meaty-heeled tower of Lori’s upstanding ped. Somehow just exposing more of his bare skin like this before her warmth-exuding foot not only made the boy feel toastier, but absorbed even more of her squalid pheromonal salt-tincture into his body with every breath, absurd as that should have seemed. His throat felt ready to close itself up in fust-based anaphylactic shock, wheezing bravely through every lungful of sour squelchy reek that smelled of decade-old leather preserved in a sealed jar of distilled brine. Yet at the same time, he was left salivating even more, watching those succulent sweat drops migrate down Lori’s rimply sole flesh with the infatuation of a starving man brought to a banquet. The raunch-tainted air caught in Mason’s chest, he let out a whimper, and then he smushed himself face-first into the sweltering brawn wall of his titanic mother’s foot.

Burying his features there against her utterly-swamped flesh, massaging back and forth until his whole head was even more soaked in liquid scuzz, he could hold back no longer. Mason parted his puny lips as if trying to fit his jaws around a whole grapefruit at once, and then engaged in a passionately-suctioned kiss with this lowliest curvature of Lori’s heel. Again he did his best not to either irritate her skin or press so hard that he risked jolting her back awake, because by now he was well beyond the point where he could still come up with a believable excuse if caught. But caution was becoming decreasingly important to Mason now. All that mattered from here was following this ever-stronger urge, filling a maddeningly sexual void at his core which had apparently opened up in the total absence of agency over his size-changing powers. So with only marginal discretion, he smooched and sucked at the burly wet-padded surface of her mighty foot, by default gulping in a heavy dribble of sweat just as he lovingly glided his micro-tongue along a groove in her saturated hot-pink heel flesh.

The salty fluid immediately scorched in his gullet, crackling against his cheeks like he’d taken a hard swig of ethanol, though of course the flavor wasn’t just pure burn. As Mason’s lips undulated and his taste buds explored but a modest fraction of the immense sweated-over landmass constituting his mother’s giant foot, he languished in a touchable liquid incarnation of an essence he’d merely inhaled previously. The stink of the gargantuan female pyro-master’s heat-pumping soles was already so raw and wretchedly potent even from a distance, exerting its grimy smog over the table and probably the whole room, that just those earlier breaths had stung in the shrunken deviant’s craw as distinctly any actual mouthful of liquid must-marinaded foulness. Indeed it already felt like Mason was drinking his mother’s underfoot essence long before he’d ever gotten close enough to open his mouth and press his tongue against her heel.

But now that he was literally doing it, licking and making out with Lori’s foot so fervently that trickles of her sweat instantly penetrated his mouth, the boy’s sensory overload had reached a new exponential peak. The flavor was absolutely egregious: so powerfully stewed into a chaos of acerbic sweaty effluvium that it genuinely tasted like disease while chugging down his esophagus. Akin to moldy soil, embalming chemicals, over-fermented Limburger, and toxic toejam ooze all rolled into one mutant culinary experience. Every successive swallow challenged Mason not to retch it all right back up, along with all the contents of his guts. That feeling of going nauseously green-faced was just metaphorical before, but now it felt like it might actually be true. Barely a minute after he’d begun orally worshipping Lori’s grunge-riddled heel, he could’ve sworn his insides were filling up like a hot water bottle, tanking to the brim on the giantess’s caustic ultra-tangy perspiration.

Yet despite that difficulty, battling against his own body to keep every putrid gulp contained, Mason’s depraved thirst was only firing up worse. This was definitely an acquired taste – even if he was nowhere close to acquiring it yet, and maybe never fully would. Still, against all odds and every bodily alarm, he wanted as much of Lori’s underfoot pollution as he could handle without either puking or reaching capacity. It disgusted him through every atom, a scourge of grotty insole-melded rancidness invading his body – but still he felt himself becoming addicted all the same to its foreign tongue-sizzling musk. The textural sensation, too, was to die for. The boy couldn’t get enough of that feeling from his miniature mouth fondling with hungry firmness over the puttied yield of her squishy sweat-packed heel. It was repulsive and luxurious as could be, all at once. His kisses turned more savage, gnashing his lips together after every prolonged kiss and even nibbling at her sweaty skin, knowing there was no chance of actually harming his slumbering parent. Of course, this only upped his chances of getting caught, if Lori was stirred from her power-nap by the ant-like prickle of her horny offspring’s love-bites, but the shrunken thing was already past the paranoid fear of being discovered. Not that he wanted to be caught, but fulfilling this urgent yearning had officially become more important than the all-too-possible risk of being seen chewing amorous hickeys onto his own colossal mother’s naked foot with his pants pulled down. And Mason still hadn’t followed this wanton wish all the way to its natural end. Not yet.