Time-Out: Nancy's Dominion (Chapter 3)

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The lively buzz from the hustle and bustle of the opulent restaurant beyond distracted Scott at first. But like usual when he was taken out in public, or rather worn out in public, it didn’t take long for him to refocus on the task at hand. Especially because, unlike the many times when he’d been trapped in the shoes of Judy or Maggie and merely made to hold still beneath their massive feet while caught between mind-numbing tedium and struggling against sweaty sweltery toe-smothering mayhem, he actually had a duty to perform for Nancy. As a result, time tended to fly by as if in a surreal dream while he was entombed in her footwear, rather than tortuously prolonging as in the past, before his whole psychosexual equilibrium was flipped on its head. Nancy hadn’t told him where they were going, but it was easy enough to tell that she was out to lunch with a friend that Scott couldn’t recognize by voice alone. And while he couldn’t see much more than a random slit of space beneath the booth, he heard almost everything. Especially once Nancy crossed one leg over the other beneath their table, allowing her maroon-hued high heel to dangle coquettishly from her dangled foot. This also happened to be the same steep-backed shoe into which she’d deposited her inch-tall charge before heading out for the day with only a wink and a smile.

“All I’m saying is, these people are on the wrong side of history here,” Nancy remarked to her friend across the table in between bites of lunch. “And I think, deep down, even they have to know it, too. Seriously, have you seen how hard they’re fighting to keep PMRDs out of the hands of responsible citizens? When so far, all this remarkable technology has done in the past decade is help reestablish a kind of justice and order that this country hasn’t seen in, let’s face it, a very long time? I swear, not a one of them is able to understand statistics, or even basic logic. And if they’re all so worried about size-changing devices being “abused,” as they like to say, why not just… oh, I don’t know… DON’T break any laws? Keep your nose clean, use your manners, treat people the way they deserve, and you’ll end up exactly where you’re meant to be. Small or not. Call me crazy, but it seems pretty cut and dry!”

Hearing such bold pro-PMRD doctrine would’ve once caused Scott’s gut to tie up in a thousand knots. Particularly while it was spoken so passionately by a towering woman who legally had him at her absolute mercy mid-espousal. Yet it turned out there was another unexpected side-effect of his (temporary) volunteer brainwashing into the ownership of Nancy’s feet. In addition to the fact that Scott was no longer afraid of being dropped inside a shoe, and no longer sickened at the aroma and texture of sweat-slaked foot flesh plastering itself against every nook and cranny of his one-inch body, the deep-seated opposition he once felt toward the discipline-loving ideologies of his giant mother and her friends had softened. Maybe even disappeared entirely. He heard it, but it no longer stung.

For years, Scott had known that the maniacal shrink-happy mindset held by Judy and everyone like her was largely responsible for the indeterminate underfoot incarceration he would now suffer until “justice” had been served. He felt guilty for his mistakes, yes, but somewhere along the line, these consequences for his sins had crossed far into the realm of cruel and unusual. Everything Nancy was saying up there right now, and everything she’d done to help Scott’s totalitarian parent further her twisted beliefs for curbing every kind of dissent with shrinkage, was part (if not all) of the reason that he was still stuck down here at this size, naked, and absorbing his years-long dignity-killing punishment. It was a perversion of fairness that he just had to live with every day as a psychological tumor. Only now, for the first time ever, nearly a month into his subservient lust-fueled stay with Nancy, Scott realized that in place of the angry helplessness that used to reside so tensely at his core, there was only a relieving void of calm acceptance. Like the gap leftover after a long-aching tooth was ripped out. As Nancy so openly flouted her opinion in public, all but stating her firm belief that Scott deserved to be shrunken for the rest of his life if those in charge of his life wished it, there was no trace of conflict in him as he lapped and humped at whatever contour of the woman’s moist puttied sole flesh came near next.

The heel bobbed in answer to the giantess’s toes curling and uncurling in slow motion. The backend of the vessel swung out the furthest away from her foot, dipping low and then rising fast again the next time she scrunched those digits, which in turn caused the one-inch occupant of that fashionable vessel to launch upward again as if jumping from a playground seesaw. He smacked straight into the buoyant pink-peach ceiling of Nancy’s arch that awaited overhead, though not with enough force to hurt him – just sufficient, instead, to activate the boy’s already-riled adrenaline. Over and over this playful yet turbulent motion occurred, with Scott’s keeper allowing her maroon pump to hang teasingly southward from her foot, and requiring only the meagerest passive effort to do so. His body would roll down that fragrant dark-imprinted slope as it turned steeper, only to bank against the backside aligned with the heel, and then leap up once more the next time her toes pulsed powerfully up at the front.

All of it of course transpired outside Scott’s control, as his heartbeat sped up and his hair blew back and his body was repeatedly looped around the smushy cramped-in roller coaster of Nancy’s heel play. Not that he wanted any control. There was more risk involved here than even his mother usually allowed, and the thrill of it was to die for. Judy was usually prudent enough while wearing Scott outside the house to keep him secured beneath her toes the whole time inside a sealed shoe, only removing or letting him change positions under careful supervision. By contrast, Nancy had steadily shown her willingness – even preference – for toying with her little attendant in ways like this that ever-so-slightly flirted with possible disaster. She could surely feel his miniature nude form slapping and smudging so aggressively against the bottom of her foot every time she dipped the heel. And Scott had full confidence in the woman’s ability to keep from injuring him while she occupied herself this way with his hapless body.

Nonetheless, the risk of trouble wasn’t zero, either. The boy could blurrily hear everything going on in the restaurant around them, could catch colorful glimpses of larger-than-life activities blustering past with humongous momentum, and was cognizant that if Nancy became too distracted or allowed her shoe to slide away at just the right angle, he could go catapulting toward the floor. The fall wasn’t likely to wound him; his shrunken constitution was disproportionately toughened, after all, and capable of being trodden upon by a giant foot for hours on end without bursting. But who was to say he wouldn’t be trampled dead under the much-hardier tread of a passing negligent stranger, squashed into paste like a bug? Or spotted and scooped up by some grinning psycho before Nancy even realized he’d fallen out of her shoe? Then again, the latter might not feel so different from his normal life, considering the kinds of people that Scott had grown up among (and grown up below). All of that perilous awareness would’ve once filled the boy with paranoid dread, regardless of how well-founded or not, as his giantess overseer treated him like the undersole equivalent of a paddle ball. Now, though, Scott’s systems only elevated to high alert from pure excitement of every kind, not with fear or mistrust or impotence. His pulse raced, his senses spun, and his arousal hit overdrive as Nancy’s heel threw him against her meaty sole for the thirtieth consecutive minute. What wasn’t to love?

This wasn’t all Nancy had in store for him during her lunch outing, however, but instead merely the teasingly drawn-out warmup. Aside from the rest of the sexual chaos that Scott had come to intimately know and darkly appreciate while at her feet this month, if nothing else, he’d learned the woman was a firm believer in the phrase “good things come to those who wait.” And indeed, so long as he gave in to her demands and allowed himself to be made an ego-stroking toy, those good things did always arrive eventually. Nancy’s chatter with her friend above ranged from PMRD politics to neighborhood gossip to celebrity news and then again back to Judy’s campaign, but no mention of Scott himself actually entered the conversation. This would’ve once come as a surprise, because the boy had personally suffered many occasions over the years when Nancy had proudly rejected all notions of privacy or secrecy in any context. She had, after all, once smugly announced to a whole room of gasping women that Scott had just licked and then ejaculated between her toes while worn in a shoe. Today, though, and every day since Judy had dropped him off weeks ago, she seemed to prefer keeping him to herself. Though why Nancy of all people had suddenly developed a sense of mild propriety, Scott couldn’t guess.

What he could guess at, however, was her purpose in finally pitching her dangled foot into a downward angle. Nancy’s pump sole rested against the floor beneath the table again, popping her heel back into place. Just before her footwear was fully reapplied, however, she allowed Scott to roll down the hill of her misshapen insole, until he’d tumbled back into the toe section, where she so often liked to have him. Then, with dexterity and precision that still impressed the one-inch lad no matter how often he experienced it, those warm pithy sweet-and-sour digits collapsed back upon him. And in a half-second flat, Nancy had her subject’s face cupped against the quashy scent-soaked underbelly of one delicious toe, while the adjacent crevice put his loins back in a cocklock.