Time-Out: Nancy's Way (Chapter 13)

Feeling more conflicted than maybe ever in his young life about the inevitability of going inside a colossal woman’s shoe, but also realizing he had only seconds left to pull himself together, Scott tried to ignore his pulse palpitations and chilled blood as a smiling Nancy’s manicured fingers reached inside her slipper for his inch-high form. In the early years of an adolescence spent being constantly placed in “time-out” underneath his gigantic mother’s foot, the boy had learned an aversion to such punishments by the humiliation, disgust, and physical duress alone of being pitifully and almost-lovingly smothered to a disturbing degree below a meaty humid perspiration-glistened sole the size of a truck. Now, though, Scott was repelled by the thought of what was about to happen for a far more potent reason: a part of him was excited to be stuck in Nancy’s shoe for the entire day. Her fingertips gingerly pinched him around the hips and plucked the runty nudist off the insole, but there wasn’t even time for her to scrutinize his unconscious mini-erection before she’d transferred him directly into the slanted maw of a pricy-looking navy-glossed stiletto high heel.

Scott was guided directly down to the toe section at the base of the slope. This spike-backed footwear was definitely steeper than the last pair of hers that he’d been imprisoned within, and the shrinker wouldn’t have had a chance of clambering back up the slippery visibly-weathered ramp of the insole without help. Not that he wanted out. His arousal was only further emphasized, in fact, once he was planted inside the shoe’s walls, and every breath he took consisted of especially pungent baked-in stagnancy from repeated use and summertime walkabouts by Nancy. The smell was undeniably sharper, warmer, and wetter in identity, even during this brief instant when Scott alone occupied the cavernous vessel of the stiletto, with nothing except the earthen sweat-aged flavor of the air here to give him that impression. Nonetheless, the boy tingled with goose bumps – which was somehow almost as offensive to him as his unwanted horniness – and felt his crotch gently throb with want. There didn’t seem to be a point in covering it with his hands, either, as the giantess lowered her shoe until her toes could peep over the hard-backed upper edge.

“Oh, and by the way, hon…” Nancy drawled, her eyes sparkling as she stared smugly down into the shoe while guiding more and more of her foot inside. Even before she spoke, Scott knew whatever she was about to casually state like some happy-go-lucky post-script was the message he’d been waiting for. “…I’m sure this goes without saying, but just in case anything was unclear from before. You set quite a standard yesterday. I wasn’t just pumping you up when I told you that you’ve got a gift for this. And because I have the same expectations of you as that Mommy of yours does… maybe even higher expectations, now that I’ve felt you in action… Auntie Nancy’s going to have to pull rank here, and insist that you show my foot the same kind of good time today. I want just as much massaging as you can give. It’s all right if you’ve got to take a break here and there, but most of the time? I want those talented little hands giving my toes the business. And I want the rest of your repertoire, too. Don’t be afraid to kiss as hard as you can, and lick as long and deep as you can. There’s no such thing as shyness here. Not between us. Not anymore. That’s all you have to worry about today, sweetheart. Do that for me, and I’m sure it’ll turn out more than worth your while.”

Having finally received the terrifyingly honest address from Nancy that he’d been anticipating since the moment he cummed between her gigantic toes yesterday, Scott loathed himself for actually enjoying what she had to say, even if secretly. He loathed himself even more when his heartrate quickened and erection stiffened to near-full when her smirking countenance was finally blocked from view by the heated shade brought on by her rapidly-descending ped. The wrinkly luminous-fleshed tapestry of the woman’s tender yoga-toughened sole momentarily held Scott in thrall as she took more time than usual inserting her foot. Even before her merrily scrunching toes caught up to him where he was cornered at the bottom of the high-heeled hill, however, the little guy came to a stark realization based only upon this split-second up-close visage of Nancy’s naked foot, and his sensitive olfactory senses. Despite his caretaker having obviously bathed, perfumed, and gussied herself up higher-above this morning, where the outside world would notice, her sultry entity of a huge foot was anything but squeaky-clean or aromatic of roses and fruit.

The whole length of Nancy’s curvaceous arch, from ball to heel, wasn’t just shimmering because of spa-style upkeep, but instead from a newly-sponged layer of slick muggy stink-fogging sweat. The whole living island of her undersole was flushed pink from cardio impacts, and radiating a tangible tropical climate in acrid waves before she’d even stepped on Scott. There were also visible flecks of gray sock fuzz gummed into the deeper creases along the doughier center of her lithe sole, though those artifacts were nothing compared to the filthier toejam clusters suctioned into the loamy perspiration-rife slots between her equally-pruny digits. It was immediately obvious that Nancy had worked out in the gym this morning while leaving Scott to his thoughts in her slipper, and had really pushed herself to her limits for the hardest sweat possible. Yet after she returned home and got cleaned up for her day out on the town, she had made a very deliberate effort not to allow a drop of water or single soap-sud to even touch her feet.

She was saving them.

For him.

Because she already knew she’d turned him into a devotee of her stink and foot sweat and righteous dominance.

And, dignity be damned, Scott felt a hateful rush of sexualized adoration for that fact overcome him as he implicitly understood her choice for her increasingly foot-captivated little subject. Goddamn it, he wanted to be under them more than ever now. All of this rapidfire thought process happened in the time between Nancy’s toes entering the high heel and squashing down onto their naked inch-tall target while she clasped the shoe firmly onto her in-place foot. But by the time Scott was pinned down, nakedly spread-eagle and vulnerably feverish and compressed skin-to-skin into the bulgy sweat-plumped flesh contours of the giantess’s greasy toe bulbs, he knew – full of remorse and sickened self-pity – that this was exactly where he wanted to be. Under Nancy’s behemoth foot, secured in the sweltering darkness, sucking down the tangy non-oxygen, with his face nestled stiffly against a moist toe shaft and his ample erection mushed between them. Which was a convenient wish for him to have, ultimately, because whether he liked it or not, the one-incher was about to spend the majority of his day right here.

Without delay, the victorious giantess set off downstairs with a certain spring in her step and a lyrical hum on her lips, and minutes later, was revving up her car and, of course, working the gas pedal with the same foot she’d chosen to supremely shelter Scott beneath. As usual, the shrinker had to give credit where credit was due: Nancy knew how to walk on him in the most comfortable manner possible. Especially when considering that he was currently down at his squattest-possible PMRD height, and the woman’s tendency was to strut heavily about with an aura of pride and self-confidence that was even better announced by the clackity-clack of her stilettos. This meant that Scott, though certainly made to take on some definite pressure, vertigo, and physically-manipulative motion on par with the duress from riding in a small topsy-turvy airplane for the first time, it wasn’t painful. That much about the experience of being worn in Nancy’s shoe, mercifully, hadn’t changed since yesterday.

But, naturally, just about everything else had changed. Scott wasn’t even having his crotch flirtatiously worked over by the giantess’s pudgy-padded middle toes, at least not yet, but already even the accidental brushing probes between his risen cock and the brawny lint-glued spaces alongside her sweaty digits was enough to ardently maintain the boy’s arousal. So that was new. The woman truly didn’t even have to try. He’d barely been inside her shoe for fifteen minutes now, shortly walked upon and then made to feel every time she pressed the pedals in her car, and Scott’s biology was aching for attention and release. Having clearly received his orders from her, but also genuinely desiring to attend her foot even when Nancy hadn’t demanded it, the shrinker kept up his end of this fucked-up bargain by hugging his arms around the globular underside geometry of his caretaker’s second-largest toe and began to knead it as best as he could while blinded, deafened, and constantly jostled within the miasmic steam-drenched vessel of her blue high heel.