Deviant Downsizing (Chapter 4)

For all those reasons, even though he was leering daily at the sloppy size-14 feet of the fiery-empowered deviant who’d raised him, Mason felt strangely secure in feeding his fetishistic lure like this. So long as he only silently watched, he told himself, never endeavoring to get suspiciously closer or daring to touch them, it might never occur to Lori that it was possibly rude of her to prop her dirty peds close enough for her insectoid offspring to suffer their superhuman pollution. Or, more importantly, she might never discover just how strongly he desired them. To keep enjoying this illicit unspoken relationship with his mother’s giant feet, Mason was determined that he avoid upsetting the status quo, or even letting the idea of his nearness to her burly perspiration-caked soles so much as cross her mind. Humiliated as he was with himself, he'd reached a kind of armistice with his unwanted fantasy, so long as he bottled that repugnant yearning and never allowed it (unlike his inconveniently-locked powers) to manifest in any way.

“Gosh, I didn’t realize just how tiiiiiiired I am until I actually sat down!” Lori yawned, as she stretched and clutched at the pillows. She sank even deeper among the cushions now, rolling her head cozily to the side, just as her hair transitioned colors again like a sunrise. The giantess nudged her feet against one another, making them sway side-to-side like windshield wipers, while her toes reflexively scrunched, causing both pithy canvases of her soles to double up those fleshy ripples. “I was going to go change into my sweatpants and whip up a snack for us, but you know what, kiddo? I’m just so out of it today that I really think a quick power-nap would do me wonders. Sorry, I know you’ve been here alone all day and you’re probably dying for some conversation, but I’ll be back up in a jiffy. You’ll see. Just a few winks will do the trick.”

“S-Sure,” Mason quietly stammered, his eyes widening and pulse accelerating even faster.

True to her word, a smiling Lori relaxed herself right into slumber just minutes later, with the whole landscape of her forty-five-story figure going serenely limp upon the furniture. Even once she was asleep, though, her hair still flared from blue to white to orange, and her feet – still propped on the tabletop where she’d left them – continued piping off those slow-rolling waves of salty stink-throttled warmth in Mason’s direction like heat lamps the size of buildings. For a while, the boy didn’t dare move, not even after his mother was quite obviously asleep already, breathing deeply and murmuring comfortably. She hadn’t napped on the couch like this before, at least not in the two weeks since his shrinkage. With a tightening sting in his stomach, both due to the ever-noisome reek of toe-squeezed brine infecting the air, as well as the eerie realization of what he now feared he might do, Mason reminded himself of that self-pact he’d made. He’d resolutely decided to keep his fetish securely under wraps – never getting any closer to Lori’s feet, certainly never touching them, and never taking any risk of her discovering his interest. That was the only way he could live with himself.

Or so he’d thought. Yet as Mason kept on staring obsessively at his now-unconscious parent’s colossal bare feet, both huge shapes brimming with such heat and making his eyes water from afar just by the withering perfume of that putrid sweat crying its way down her roomy soles, aching temptation suddenly challenged all his paranoid justifications. This was the first time he’d ever been left alone with secret unrestricted consequence-less access to these filthy objects of his increasing affection. And for all he knew, it might be the last, if Lori suddenly became self-conscious about laying her grubby feet so close to her shrunken offspring’s residence that the smell, sweat, and climate of them had begun to affect his every waking moment. If he didn’t go for this chance right now, Mason dizzily reasoned, he might be panged forever by the thought of “what-if,” unable to move on with his life while plagued both by his inability to regrow, as well as this intense appetite to not just gawk at his mother’s perspiration-slobbering soles from out of reach, but to come much closer. To feel that blazing temperature like hot breath smothered all over his face. To inhale a probably-wretched yet somehow fulfilling lungful of her ripe saline-gooey underfoot pestilence, until his knees were made to buckle. To place his puny hands directly upon that humid spongy-looking edifice of hearty heel flesh, and press hard into its firm yet forgiving texture.

Unable to take it any longer, and just as certain that he would regret this decision as he was about the impossibility of resisting it, Mason leapt into motion. He marched with dedicated purpose toward Lori’s feet, knowing he might be overcome by shameful second thoughts if he traveled too slowly, though his legs still felt like jelly by the time he stood right in front of his mother’s statuesque right heel. Mason was only planning to get closer and satiate that morbid curiosity eating away at him, not actually touching, and then back off. That was all. Even having observed her sweaty bare feet every day for two weeks from close enough that she could’ve easily tipped her toes down and gently squashed his habitat without even lifting off the table, Mason still couldn’t properly comprehend the absolute size of them until he was actually standing so nearby. And good God, they were astronomic. Standing close enough now to reach out and touch her foot – though he still didn’t dare – Mason felt like he was beholding the giantess using a whole new set of senses, if not from an entirely separate dimension.

Everything was truly on display here. Mason’s gaze traveled along every grainy rose grid-line making up the hardier bulge of Lori’s rotund heel, then down to that contact point between her foot and the coffee table, where her flesh was smushed flatter and shaded yellower from resting pressure rather than that deep-pink which covered the rest of her naked sole real estate in some way. He recognized the pronounced puffiness borne of treading so heavily in those flats all day, especially down here around the stiffer backend of her undersole region, but also much higher, around the balls of her feet and the plump dewdrop pads of her toes even further above. From afar, Mason could already see each dark dot of tracked-on dirt, lint, or inlay leather speckled across her skin, but now he could really distinguish what every single piece of hardened smut truly was; he could’ve picked them clean off her foot easily as juicy pieces of rotten fruit from an accursed tree.

Likewise, that thick varnish of shiny sweat, some of it half-dried in a crust across her skin while the rest was still cascading gradually down her sole like melted butter in slippery trickles, was easily discernible while still a safer distance away from Lori’s foot. But now, Mason could actually watch the precise path those splattery beads of perspiration would take: the ways they obeyed the creases in that bountiful sole, running along the fleshy fluting like soft pink gutters, then rolled over the sides. When he stared hard enough, he swore he could actually see a faint reflection of himself, albeit fragmented funhouse-style, mirrored back in that sheen of salty liquid painted so richly upon her giant heel, right above where the puddle had formed.