Time-Out: Nancy's Way (Chapter 15)

Nevertheless, this phenomenon at Nancy’s feet was no longer about secrets to Scott. It didn’t matter if no one else alive ever knew what had happened. Scott knew. And, just as frightening, Nancy knew. She understood, maybe even more disastrously, exactly what she’d done to this shrunken boy she’d been power-hungrily overshadowing for so many playful years – she knew what he was, what he wanted, and what she planned to continue doing to him below her gargantuan feet so long as he was this small and legally-bound to her own desires. That was all that mattered.

A few turbulent minutes now had passed since Nancy’s ever-pulsing toes had semi-automatically masturbated Scott to completion mid-stride, but she wasn’t stopping. And neither was he. The last of that prime orgasmic ecstasy had washed out of the one-incher’s system, leaving him once again with all these worrisome thoughts and the unbelieving realization that his cock was already starting to stiffen again in the warm humidity-thickened crevice between her digits. There really was no limit to how deeply into this madness he was prepared to sink, it seemed. The floodgates were cranked wide open. So he resumed worshiping without so much as a toe-clenching reminder from his newly-consensual benefactor, just as they both knew beyond a doubt that he would. By hour two of his cooping inside her high heel, every fractional speck of Scott’s whole body was coated over in multiple oily layers of Nancy’s sweat and feathered over by stuck-on toejam crumbs like black tar blobs. It all badly itched, stunk hotly of sour vigorously-festered exhaustion, and made his nakedness more slippery than if she’d doused him in melted butter. Despite those objective downsides, though, Scott could still feel himself craving to immerse himself thicker into the filth. Not just tolerating it as he had for so many years of being punished in the shoes of family and friends, but finding his current apex arousal only increased as the slimy brine-eucalyptus atmosphere of the giantess’s foot flesh was tattooed onto this single-inch boy-shaped canvas. Scott wanted as much of this as she could give him.

Having miserably accepted that disgusting fact, his second inescapable climax between Nancy’s toes arrived with less panic-attack turmoil for the little thing, but no less pleasure than before. In fact, it felt even better. Not just great, but addictively so. Scott moaned and writhed in the constantly-squishing darkness, and at the same moment of cumming relief, sucked down the densest gulp he could of that smut-encoded essence so tartly fogged into this sliver of livable space below the imprinted stiletto insole and his overseer’s digit pads. That mustily-perfumed flavor of her feet seeped unabashedly into Scott’s skull, and he loved every squalid whiff of it. No matter how insistently his brain told him to be repulsed by her stuffily-palpable smell, to wheeze and vomit in defensive self-loathing, that boggy honeyed-earth ripeness of Nancy’s elegantly colossal ped only pushed the boy’s erotic drive into another shrunken stratosphere. It made the surge of his last worship-frenzied orgasm triple as potent, so much so that he could feel himself skipping the refractory period this time, and continuing right along in his foot-licking duties without even skipping a beat, while barely surrendering any of the firmness in his nethers.

Why in the hell was this working so well, Scott unconsciously theorized between toe kisses? Had she broken him so thoroughly that every natural bodily instinct had been flipped, and these immense feminine feet which had previously brought him nothing but grief and revulsion and sole-splatted discomfort were now his greatest most-stimulating idols? Most importantly, and also the easiest to know, did Scott even still care one way or the other? The answer, of course, was no. Putting aside all the drama and indignity of this messy situation with Nancy, and there was plenty of both, he couldn’t deny that in the span of two surreal days, his temporary giantess keeper had left him so shell-shockingly gratified that it made him forget – at least for a little while – the guilt of his accidental criminal record, the hell-at-home he’d soon have to endure again once returned to Judy, the probable dissolution of his relationship with Ella, and above all, what an absolute low point in his life he’d reached. That was the power Nancy had over him now.

Which made it stingingly obvious, as Scott felt his head swimming with arousal for the third time in an even shorter period than the last toe-jacked wind-up, that he didn’t necessarily want to be separated from her feet. At least not for a while. That revelation had crept up on him, just like every other creepy development in his blossoming attachment to Nancy Dugan’s heels, soles, and toes. And as with everything else he’d had to come to terms with over the past couple days in her indentured care, Scott could internally rage and mince all he wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that he yearned – just for his three days as her charge, and maybe even longer than that – to be a slave to her feet.

Not that there was much separating him from such a distinction. Considering Scott was already shrunken down to one inch, stripped naked, sharing the woman’s hot-blooded personal climate, slathered in her greasy sweat and toejam flakes, purposefully gasping up her raunchy aroma, fiercely guiding his puny tongue through the creases in her soggy flesh, and allowing her walking pace to hump him silly, there weren’t many other appropriate words for it. He just had to name it. And at last he had, inside. Scott was utterly enchanted by Nancy’s feet in the sickest possible terms, and wished to go on doing whatever she wanted him to do with them. For all he knew, the giantess may have already made this discovery about her runty horned-up underfoot charge before he even could himself – and if she hadn’t yet, she surely would soon realize that she was no longer in possession of a shrunken houseguest, or an in-shoe ornament, or the easily-tormented son of her best friend, but best of all, a ready and willing foot slave.