Careful What You Wish For (Chapter 24)

“Seriously, freak. Doesn’t it ever bother you? That I can make you hurt as much as you deserve until you almost break, and teach you what a worthless foot-humping bug you are in a hundred different ways, and tell you every day that you’re just a pointless waste of space that doesn’t even belong as a tiny splat under somebody’s shoe, and it still TURNS YOU ON more than all the Viagra and strip clubs in the world ever could?” Kayla thundered with delicious triumph.

Cody’s total-body consumption made him slow to realize that his owner wasn’t just harping on his masochistic fetish again at random, and in fact he was sporting a shameful uprisen sign of his bone-deep arousal right where she could see and feel it. The rest of him was still so strained from the day’s earlier persecutions, however, either numbed or still wincing in memory, he’d entirely failed to notice how horny he’d become until now. Miserably, Cody was just as unsurprised as Kayla about this development, but that didn’t stop him from turning rose and feeling razor-wire knots form in his stomach from sheer indignity. As usual, not even his own body could give him a rest, and had betrayed him once again by that automatic lust he felt so strongly for every apocalyptic thing the giantess did to him, no matter how vicious or soul-weathering. There was no suppressing this badge of shame, either, once it started – especially with Kayla only adding erotic fuel to the fire by laughably calling it out – and despite knowing how much worse the consequences would be if he actually did climax, Cody guiltily yearned for that bittersweet finale to the curse of his libido.

“You want to know what makes it even WORSE, though, creep?” Kayla continued, as the contempt grew thicker in her voice with every word, until Cody couldn’t tell if she was repressing belly-laughter or a nauseous gag reflex just from speaking about him. Her toes shifted over him, then, rolling the three-incher lower under the heftier portions of her sole, first burying him into the muscular-padded pillow that was the ball of her foot nearly to the point of suffocation, and next grinding him under her denser heel hard enough to puncture him into a gore stain, if she hadn’t made him impervious at the last second.

“At first, I thought maybe it was just the nasty FOOT thing, and also being a tiny crunchable one-inch-tall weirdo that got you off so much. But then we really got to know each other better. Which isn’t something I ever thought I’d want with you of all people, but hey, you made a convincing case for me owning you forever. You gave me all the power I could ever need to control you and read your thoughts and make your life into my favorite toy. And then I realized, oh NO, it’s not just that you’re a twisted itsy-bitsy foot-licking pervaholic… and you definitely are that, for sure, in the worst possible way… but it’s really just, well, ANYTHING bad I do to you that gets you off. Anything that happens to you, and anything I say, is something that could make you get hard, if I’m just mean enough, and it stings you enough, and you feel SMALL enough. I mean, has that sunk in all the way for you, you puny degenerate insect-boy?

“Honestly! I want to know! Like, how many FETISHES can you actually fit inside a body that itty-bitty? Because it’s not just shrinking or getting squashed under my feet that makes your eyes roll back into your empty skull and your junk pop up like some greasy deadbeat going through a freaking ten-year-long puberty. No, no, no. You know I can tell you get a flinchy little boner going every time I toss you in my mouth and chew you up. It doesn’t matter if I make you into my bubblegum, or I just CHOMP the real you up like a gross little oyster, you still love it to death. Literally, because half the time I go ahead and let you die between my teeth, and that doesn’t bother you one stinking bit. It happens when I spit on you. When I SIT on you and crush you so hard that you don’t even have time to stare at my ass. It happens when I turn you into a pencil, or a pillow, or a fork, or the inside of my shoe before I’m even wearing it. Any way that helps you remember you’re not a real person, and you never should’ve even pretended to be one before you made those crazy-stupid wishes, is just something else that makes you go hog-freaking-wild horny.

“Really, when you look at it that way, that genie did us BOTH a huuuuuge favor. You, because you should’ve just been born from the very start as a dinky little transformer freak who only exists to do everything his owner wants and get off from all the ways she hurts him. And me, because after all those years of having to know you as a fake-person, I FINALLY get something useful out of it. Just the sorriest shortest squishiest living stress ball that anyone ever had, right down there at my feet, where you belong. Because, c’mon let’s face it, that really is your FAVORITE place to get your freak on. Even though anything I do to you is enough to get you going, and I do mean anything, my feet really are special to you. Always have been. And I’m not just saying that because I’ve seen your pathetic little ass getting a chub from the millions of times I’ve stepped on you since you gave yourself to me. I can read it right off your flustery red face. Also, I can read it right out of your smooth lil’ brain too, since I can see every stupid pointless thought you ever had in your stupid pointless life before I let you become my slave. Normally I’m not really in the mood to look inside your head, because everything in your memories is either so dumb or so pervy that I want to gag just seeing it, but I was curious about something.

“So I looked back. Way back. And, whoop-de-doo, what do ya know, you’ve ALWAYS been waaaaay into my feet, you skeevy little toe-blower! Pretty much since the first second you got a look at ‘em. The first day we met, and every day after that. What makes it even more hysterical is that you didn’t like me then – and you’ve never liked me – almost as much as I don’t like you. But not quite, either, because you really can’t imagine how MUCH I hate everything about you – except screwing with you, that part’s pretty fun. Whatever. My point is, you’ve just had to live all this time with knowing that you can’t STAND me, and at the same time, you also can’t LIVE without gawking your horny googly-eyes at my big sexy size-9s whenever they walk by you or I scrunch up my toes or make my soles go all wrinkly. I saw all of that in your rotten little head. It probably ate you up inside. Made you hate yourself. And that’s before you ever made a wish to become… this. Just a tiny man-shaped nothing, waiting for somebody to smash him dead under her foot again, and remind him that’s all he’s good for. Oh, that reminds me. It is all you’re good for, Cody. It’s all you’re good for… literally the WORST thing anybody could ever hope to be… and you’d still probably cum yourself inside-out to that idea, if I let you do it.”