Fantasy Foot League (Chapter 4)

            Six whole days. For one hundred and forty-four hours, though it felt like much longer, Cody had miserably suffered through Kayla’s nonchalant self-serving wrath. His height had oscillated up and down like a yo-yo on an hourly basis; the actual organic material of his body had undergone so many transformative violations, rendering his skin into filthy grease-bloated toejam monstrosities; and no matter how obediently he followed the giantess’s commands in hopes of mildly-kinder treatment, she never failed to stomp, smear, and near-suffocate him beneath every meaty province of her exercise-addicted bare feet. Cody had let himself be worn and trampled as a shoe, inhabited the salt-mined squishiness of her toe crevices as living lint, and pathetically worshiped the crease-riveted sole flesh of this gargantuan creature he’d come to loathe so deeply yet had no choice but to kiss and suckle every repugnant angle of her peds like a long-lost lover. And even the slightest grumble of dissent, let alone what Kayla interpreted as lazy hesitation from her diminutive store-bought slave, only led to an immediate compounding in this marathon of underfoot consequences.

            But the week-long nightmare was nearly over. Just twenty-four more hours to survive, and she’d be legally obligated to return him to the rent-a-shrinker establishment, no matter her empty threats about going into Karen-mode and somehow extending his internment with her. After all, he wasn’t a criminal; he was basically a low-paid temp, working at the place for one unfortunate week because he’d made some bad calls in his fantasy league. There was no way Kayla could just lie and prolong this slimy, degrading, brine-scented, heavy-heeled hell of a staycation under her feet one minute longer than his contract allowed. And just as soon as Cody was no longer at the mercy of a transmogrifier, it would be payback time. In fact, the thought of all the ways he was going to get back at his girlfriend’s big sister for these unconscionable abuses she’d so playfully imposed on him with her feet was the only way he managed to hold his tongue whenever she cackled at his tiny self, or rather stuck it out yet again to lick more sock-grub of her peachy sunbaked arches. Satisfaction would be his.

            “Hold on, keep working on that spot. I don’t think you got everything yet,” Kayla commented from the other end of the couch, just as the three-incher was preparing to drag his numbed lips to the neighboring digit-valley of her upturned left foot, while hunkered on his hands and knees atop the juicy turf-redolent upper slab of her exposed sole.

Was she really going to micromanage him this hard, so close to the end, Cody wondered? Hadn’t she gotten her goddamn message across already? What purpose could she have possibly had, except to give her victim even more reason to be pissed once his body was no longer her foot-toy? Begrudgingly, Cody turned his head back to that sponge-tender spot between her second and third toes that he’d already smooched and lapped so clean it sparkled like marble. After wheezing in a failed attempt to clear some of the ripeness out of his throat, the shrinker effectively wedged his face back into that doughy fluid-entrapped pocket for redundant licking, and was promptly clasped into a muscularly scrunched headlock with Kayla’s beefy dreck-crumbed toes for at least the tenth time today. Though his sight, hearing, and breathing capacity were instantly compressed to a dark unnerving asphyxiation-void, he could feel the amused tremors all the way down in her oily gym-fresh foot flesh, and more importantly perceived the peals of belly-laughter as she casually threatened to choke her three-inch servant unconscious with just a few bunched pulses from her lanky toes. Only by the slippery grace of either sodden digit flank was Cody able to pry his skull loose from her trap, red-faced and huffing.

“Okay, I’m done,” he scowled once he’d caught his breath, defiantly meeting the giantess’s brow-raised gaze beyond. “Hear me, Kayla? I’m… fucking… done.”

“Oooh, this is gonna be good. I can tell,” she sarcastically purred, propping her chin atop her fist and putting on a clownish smile. “Go on.”

“Just STOP it already. Do you really not realize how far you took this?” Cody accused. “Did you really think I could just laugh this off? Like the week would end, and we’d just move on? The shit you’ve done to me, I don’t even know how to… God… look, all that matters is, I’m done doing what you say. I don’t care if there’s a day left. Because no matter what you do, once I’m “me” again, I’m going to make sure you pay for ALL of this! Do you really think any of your family will side with you for what you did? I don’t even give a shit if it’s embarrassing to have to tell them what happened to me. I’m going to make sure everybody at your job knows about this. All your friends, your neighbors. You’re not getting away with this. So just leave me the fuck alone, starting now, and think of how you’re going to apologize, and maybe I won’t have to burn your whole life to the ground after all.”

“I was right,” Kayla affably replied, unflinching and calmer than Cody would’ve liked. “That was good. Sooooo… what I’m hearing is… you want a little break from my feet.”

“Screw you,” Cody spat. He’d have preferred if she showed some emotion, even rage, just to show he’d gotten through.

“I’ll take that as a yes. And, good news, I’m actually going to give you that break! So you’re welcome” she cheerily stated, while repositioning on the couch and scooping the three-incher up in her palm.

Though still furious at her, Cody was glad to at least get the impression he’d scared Kayla into leaving him be, regardless of whether she was too proud to admit this was checkmate. He wasn’t even bothered when she took the transmogrifier back in-hand, though his concerns admittedly did increase when she proceeded to plant him on the weathered print-stained brown insole of her empty leather flip-flop and then shrink him down so drastically below one inch that he couldn’t even gauge how small he was until realizing that the bowled depression of her big toe alone had become like a modest swimming pool, albeit drained empty and burnished dark by repeated wear. Expecting to have a spiral-squashy toepad the size of a meteor dropped on him next, Cody instead watched Kayla march thunderously across the room, put on a different pair of shoes, and grab her keys en route to the front door.

“You just sit tight, take your cute little break, and I’ll be right back after I’ve had the chance to think real long and hard about all the super-serious stuff you said. Don’t go anywhere!” Kayla said before departing, in a voice that still made Cody uneasy by its sunniness. Indeed, it wasn’t like he would’ve had a choice to go elsewhere even with permission, helplessly millimeter-sized as he was in the grody stink-hazy crater of an insole toeprint.

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            The literal island that was Kayla’s abandoned flip-flop quaked like a fault line rupture when she returned an hour later. Cody, though he didn’t regret standing up for himself and reminding his temporarily-omnipotent keeper that she’d have to answer for her cruelty eventually, was shaken by such lengthy solitude at a millimeter high, marooned in this broad sweat-grayed cavity of a toe valley, where a strong enough AC breeze could knock him on his face. It was a strange comfort to see this mountainously godlike visage of Kayla stomping toward where she’d left him, no matter the gut-turning intimidation of being at the feet of someone so humongous, or the ominousness of her serene grin as she looked down on his granular self.

            “I’m so glad you spoke up before, loser,” the giantess whispered with a snarl closer to her usual malice, though at this size her voice still roared through the cavernous room and made Cody shiver on the stenched leather-sticky plain of her battered summer shoe. “You really did give me a LOT to think about while I was driving back to the store. For example: I can spend six days straight just squashing the hell out of a dinky little toejam-guzzling scrub boy who’s almost as shitty at licking my feet as he is at winning fucking fantasy football, and he can STILL have the micro-balls to talk to me like that, when he really has no idea how much I’ve been holding back so far. Well, that sure showed me. Mainly, it showed me that a week definitely wasn’t enough to teach you who’s boss. I mean, I’ve told you the answer all along: it’s my feet. You’re nothing but a stool, or a shoe, or a nasty ball of toe cheese, or literally whatever I want you to be for them. But, you definitely haven’t learned a thing so far, which is why I got another two weeks added onto your time. For now. I mean, if I could get that much more in one conversation with the manager, just imagine how long I could keep you if I called somebody higher up?”