Deviant Downsizing (Chapter 3)

Yet Mason couldn’t make himself do that. “He” didn’t want to, even if his body did, and was currently gnawing at him to get away from Lori’s feet by any means necessary. Just as Mason had to shrink first to discover the depth of that grossed-out antipathy to his titanic mother’s soles, it also took this accidental invocation of his deviant power to stoke another unexpected feeling within himself: something more powerful than awe, fear, or even disgust. Something primal and irresistible. For the first few days, Mason believed this draw toward Lori’s soles was a mere byproduct of his overall wonder at the enormously-transformed world around him. Since he’d mostly been living on the coffee table post-shrinkage, this daily overshadowing from her massive feet gave him a chance to grasp firsthand just how small he’d become, simply by staring over every intricate detail (however dingy and sweat-drizzled) of her furrowed arch brawn and waggly toe shafts.

But then came the other signs, and no matter how much he tried to deny it to himself, Mason knew this feeling wasn’t just platonic wonder. His heartbeat quickened now every time Lori came back into the room with the seeming intention of resting her heels up on this table – not frightened palpitations, but rather anticipatory thrill. His extremities tingled, restless until his skyscraping mother’s feet were settled into place. Amidst the reviled pit in his stomach at the stench and slime laden across those vast dimpled soles, Mason also felt a paradoxical opening up within himself: a floaty lightness, akin to finally fading into peaceful sleep or quenching a throbbing thirst after the need for either had gone on too long.

Plus, just in case all those indicators weren’t clue enough, he’d started popping a daily half-chub boner from the moment Lori cheerily announced her return home, which then grew to a full-mast by the time her bare peds had been reposed upon his tabletop habitat for more than a minute. There was no getting around it, no matter how ashamed and self-nauseated the truth made Mason feel. He had a raging incorrigible foot fetish, its ardent enthusiasm undented by the fact that these feet belonged to his own mother, or that they happened to be quite possibly the dirtiest muggiest sweatiest pair in town, if not even further beyond. Even while Mason was literally revolted to his core by Lori’s lowliest heat-trapping anatomy, he couldn’t escape the fact that he also found them to be absurdly gorgeous, and was allured with horny vigor stronger than anything he’d ever felt for any girls at school, let alone for their grimy feet specifically.

In hindsight, he supposed he’d probably always been this way, as over his teenage years, he’d vaguely taken notice of cleaner objectively-beautiful pairs of feminine feet whenever he caught sight of them in flip-flops. The activation of his deviant abilities hadn’t granted him a foot fetish as a random side-effect; it had simply shifted his perspective, spotlighting what was inside him all along, and gave him no choice but to confront and at last let all those needs out at once, amidst his powerless shrunken-down strife. He was just unlucky enough that, at the moment all those long-pent paraphilic feelings were unleashed, they had literally nowhere else to attach upon but the naked oily billboard-humongous peds of his kind and caring yet hygiene-oblivious mega-parent.

Having been raised by Lori, taught that he had to keep her abilities hidden and then eventually his own if they ever manifested, there was a special secrecy-guarding bond between them that he knew was more significant even than the average mother-son connection. They’d always had one another’s backs, and always would. Until now, Mason was certain that he could safely reveal literally anything to Lori, if he wanted. But at last, he’d discovered the exception to that belief, since the instant a week and a half ago when he’d realized with horror just how lustfully enamored he was to her feet, he’d vowed to safeguard this hyper-embarrassing information with his life and someday take it to his grave. She could never ever find out.

Still, in this new-low forlorn state, with nothing to look forward to each day except isolation in a dollhouse and plenty of failure at attempting to rein in his deviant power, Mason also didn’t have the willpower to deny himself completely. For the first several days of this after-work foot-propping ritual by the oblivious Lori, he’d tried his best to keep from acknowledging it, by averting his gaze downward and freezing the already-tainted breath in his lungs, just hoping to run out the clock until she stood up again and wandered off to change. He distracted his thoughts with literally anything else, and clenched his scrawny muscles at random to help stifle the hard-on in his pants. But his giantess parent’s feet, even offered before him in total naivete on her part, were just too powerful to ignore.

And today was no exception, either. That sole-heat literally washed over him from afar. It didn’t just create a balmy microclimate at a serene standstill all around him, but pumped out fresh waves of that super-tropical sultriness every time Lori subliminally kept her power under control again, sometimes causing her hair to flash an even-hotter crimson sunset hue at the same time. No matter if Mason held his breath or tried to filter the air by furtively covering his nose and lips with a hand, that creeping vapor still invisibly coated over the whole table like a pea soup fog, flooding his delicate olfactory perceptions with an overload of pickled pheromonal must. It absolutely stunk to high heaven, worse than anything he could’ve conceived on his own, before getting just a whiff of such sweaty dankness to teach him precisely how bad a singular everyday smell could be. Each successive half-breath he inhaled seemed to peel back another variation of that ruinous flavor off his mother’s feet – alternately hailing from the flaky scuzz inside Lori’s flats, to the jellied lint that rubbed free and caught between her toes like clay, to all the grease actively dribbling from her sole pores and currently forming a small puddle down by her heels.

Once that skin-coating heat and extremely tart B.O. had taken hold, forcing him to feel and smell the presence of her gigantic feet, it was only a matter of time before Mason just had to steal a glance too. Then a glance always turned into a head-cocked stare. And a stare into an unblinking gawp. By then, he was toast. There was no tearing his attention away again after he’d locked his sights onto Lori’s weary flat-stripped after-school peds in all their jaw-dropping enormity: manically running his gaze over a hundred details in this underfoot collage containing every supple sole-crease, every raw-rubbed patch of russet-blushed skin, every glued-on crumb of shoe detritus, and every fat droplet of rheumy sweat slow-motion zigzagging its way along those steep arch curves. It was horrifying and intoxicating, focus-snaring and immaculate, somehow all at once.

Of course, as he indulgently gazed upon his mother’s monumental feet, shivering from amazement and turning randier by the instant, Mason at least had the bare-minimum wherewithal to keep from being caught. Baggy pants, plus his literal one-inch scale, helped disguise a crotch tent from her possible notice, but he was still always careful to posture himself at an angle that concealed any arousal. He never dared take a single step closer off his tiny model home’s front stoop. And since the giantess tended to rest her heels on the table in such a way that her shrunken son was framed in her view between insteps, Mason had the plausible deniability of looking back in her direction as if to meet her superior eyeline – even though he was much more interested in studying the beefy-soled twin obelisks lazing in his immediate personal bubble. Luckily for him, Lori was so sleepily worn-out still from a full day of shepherding apathetic young minds that she didn’t tend to focus much on him during these foot-propped wind-downs anyway, instead tilting her head back upon the sofa pillows and squinting off into space.