RealisVere (Chapter 6)

The rush was only improving for Halim, as one song concluded and blended dreamily into another, which changed up the giantess’s dancing style but certainly not the intensity level. That amalgamated flavor of Rayda’s feverish foot was so mouthwatering for her brother now that it took all his willpower not to open his mouth, stick out his tongue, and treat her with the same dignity-cancelling awe that he daily showed to his VR wife’s own sole. Not that there was anything stopping him from doing so. Somehow, though, still subconsciously mortified at being called out for his incestuous leaning by his own creation, Halim kept himself in check. There had to be a line somewhere, after all. So far, all he’d done was follow Rayda’s instruction, shrinking then passively allowing himself to be worn like an unseen ornament beneath her foot, only sniffing up that raunchy zest and getting baptized in her flesh-pooling sole sweat because he had no other choice. On some level, he could still claim technical innocence here.

But that was soon to change. The bassy vibrations running through the creasy topography of Rayda’s meaty sole from each floor-bouncing impact weren’t just single bombastic counts tapped out with metronome-like regularity. Steadily, Halim swore he could feel those percussive strikes maintaining their resonance even when his sister leapt up again, as if the bottom of her gargantuan foot itself was performing a belly dancer-like slow wave during each rise and fall. That undeniably seductive pattern naturally transferred to her diminutive rider, making him feel like his half-inch body was provocatively swaying and thrusting in unison with hers. When first noticing it, Halim tried to go against the current, staying limp yet resisting his sister’s undulating sole-ripples, like someone standing defiantly in the way of a strong tide. That didn’t work for long, though. Giving in again, Halim “danced” with Rayda’s foot, which meant letting his hips pump forth, grinding his midsection almost-lovingly against that spongy plain of fragrant sole flesh, while his face was burrowed even harder into the reeking perspiration-slaked divot between toes. It overheated him to a new echelon, threw his orientation into another tailspin, and stunk obscenely of saltwater-fouled spices and footprint-stained leather. And it felt spectacular.  By the time a third song booted up – or maybe it was the tenth or twentieth, since Halim had lost all sense of time down here – he’d united fully with the dance and all its delectable sense-melting joys.

Inevitably, fetish-drunk on his own colossal sister’s fast-moving sole, his body began to simulate another all-too-genuine biological reaction. There was no possible way of avoiding it, especially after that warm-up with Chaima was used to help jumpstart something else he wanted just as much. Yet as embarrassed as Halim was to realize he was getting a hard-on from being danced upon by Rayda, that somehow wasn’t the most galling revelation suffered like a freak lightning strike in this moment. Rather, it was the shock of noticing he was naked again. Stimulatingly squashed face-first into his sister’s foot for the umpteenth stepdown, suffused in another cornucopia of those lavish Nsurri-native musks, his heart practically stopped when he felt his exposed full-mast cock probe against the oiled pithiness of Rayda’s sole.

Not that the actual sensation itself was a surprise or even unwelcome, since he daily reveled in it below the digital Chaima. But Halim had never been more certain of anything in his life that he’d first re-clothed himself before leaving the bedroom to chase his wife, and then made no conscious decision to rid himself of that garb again after. He knew precisely what it took to make changes in this world – requiring nothing less than a distinct objective thought-command to the AI – and had done no such thing. No matter how lost he’d let himself become in in the steamy orbit of Rayda’s rhythm-masturbating arch dimples, he’d kept up enough awareness to know that much.

Why? No, scratch that. More importantly, how had such a critical error in his control transpired?

Yet just before Halim could make an executive choice and bring this unhinged madness screeching to a halt, guiltily understanding that he’d already allowed it to go on far beyond what was acceptable, something stopped him. He couldn’t do it. Once again, Halim wasn’t literally blocked from wresting master control over this virtual realm, but instead powerfully persuaded otherwise. Each hypnotic dance-energized pulse ran through Rayda’s sole and his inexplicably nude form alike with a new vigor. Every humping motion flooded him with another burst of exhilarating grunge-caked pungency and glided his aching member along that same sweaty micro-groove in her perfect sole, rocketing him quicker toward a magnificent psychologically-devastating fate. Halim felt it pleasurably approaching, as guaranteed as the next sunrise. He knew he ought to stop this, now: to exit out of the rsVR instantly, take a day if not a week to clear his head, and then rebuild this entire version from scratch so that landslide of errors could remain just as hidden from the world as his taboo desires. But still he couldn’t – or rather, he couldn’t bear to stop the onslaught of what he could already tell was going to be the most explosive orgasm of his life.

Sure enough, as little of this current session as Halim had accurately predicted so far, he at least estimated his own unstoppable euphoria correctly. Thanks to his programmed world’s off-the-rails rationale, and VR Rayda’s talents turned into a podophilic dreamscape, he jolted to a ridiculously potent finale just as the next song trailed to a conclusion as well. The giantess at last slowed their shared dance to a lazy toe-scrunching crawl, as if she’d been waiting for this turn of events exclusively as a reason to curtail her fun again. Halim heard the click of her devices switching off again, and then her leg arose again, until she’d propped her heel upon the table. Still panting, wonderfully out-of-sorts, and awash in the life-changing afterglow of that climax, he hardly noticed this major change in altitude, nor even the fact that he was no longer coming within a millimeter of getting trampled into the floor like a beetle every other heartbeat. What he did finally perceive, however, was the tender sensation of his half-inch form coming reluctantly untethered from Rayda’s misty luminous-tan sole bounty. She was untying the bow. Feeling himself unpeel from her warm pheromone-packed sole skin like a pebble unsticking from wet clay, Halim instinctively tensed and tried to hang on, only to be hit by another wave of disgrace as the (virtual) reality of everything that just happened descended at last in the wake of his finish. His giant sister’s fingertips gently delivered his now-naked shape back to the tabletop, giving him a taunting squeeze before she let go, then peered at him over the mountainous height of her bare foot with a look of starry-eyed smugness more triumphant than any look the real Rayda had ever egotistically bestowed.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” she uttered in a slithering whisper, every word paradoxically dripping with mockery and eroticism at once. “I’ve always wanted you to dance with me. And you’ve always wanted to shrink then squish under my feet while I dance ON you. Hugging and smelling and just existing beneath them, like the lesser thing you really are, deep down inside. Well, now both our wishes have come true, BIG brother, and they can keep on coming true, as often as you visit. All because of what you made.”

Rayda balled her toes again, re-creasing her sole span and allowing the light to wash over its ruddied texture. In the sudden pin-drop silence of the loft following so much deafening cacophony from the music and her heel-thumps, Halim stumbled back to a stand, shivering and bug-eyed, as he heard the soft squelch of sweat oozing out from between those bulbous toes when they so cutely pinched, then rolling all the way down the cushy façade of her up-propped size-10 arch in one squiggly glistening pathway like a lick streak made by a tongue a story long. That sound and view in tandem with the vivid sensory memory of everything he’d just enjoyed mid-dance was enough to make the shrunken creature wince from mesmerized obsession, and almost reharden before his arousal from the last round could fully settle, but then the soul-depth shame of it all hit him like cardiac arrest.