Work From Home (Chapter 13)

“Hi there, honey!” Tamatha said. While she’d sounded glad before while speaking to Ms. Perkins, her voice turned sweetly ecstatic now, again making Carl’s heart flutter before he recalled that his spouse reserved this attitude for their two daughters alone. “No, no, nonsense, you’re not bothering anyone. This is a perfect time to call. In fact, I just got off from a business call, and let’s just say we should have a little extra cash in the vacation fund this year, if everything keeps going according to plan. I’m seeing a visit to the beach in our future. Yes, I certainly did take care of business, dear.”

Carl, feeling lethally dry thanks to all the crying and ejaculating, craned his neck as high as his unstable position would allow. After balling his fists around the nylon tufts until they turned numb, just to ensure he couldn’t slip, Carl let his erection relax into the deepest crinkle in his wife’s bending isle-foot. Then the little man studied the landscape of his blonde titaness’s form. He watched Tamatha’s face light up as she spoke on the phone to, presumably, Blair while on break at her bank teller window.  Through the filter of the glass desk, the woman’s expression was slightly distorted, but there was no mistaking the love she reserved only for their children. She hadn’t shown that kind of affection to the little man now currently perched on her foot for a very long time. Broken, Carl could only wonder at what point Tamatha’s love for him had turned to rot. Was it the day he bought the gaming rig instead of using the money to take them out for a nice anniversary dinner? Was it the first time he insisted on a footjob instead of actual sex, or maybe the hundredth time? Was it the night of their wedding, when he’d gotten sleepy after too much foreplay and left her alone? Or maybe it was all of it combined, bits of straw added piecemeal to the camel’s back of their marriage.

“Stop struggling,” Tamatha suddenly hissed at a near-imperceptible volume, and Carl realized for the first time in a while she wasn’t speaking into the phone. Her fingers cupped over the phone speaker, ensuring only one recipient could hear her command. “It’ll be so much easier if you just give in. Just hold on, my little darling. Touch, breathe it in, and come to peace with this. Mmm… yes, that’s the ticket.”

Carl felt as though at any second, his wife’s words themselves would shrink him yet further.

“Well, sure, we could talk over some of that next time you’re here!” Tamatha said, switching gears as she uncovered the phone again. “Yes, I was absolutely serious when I said I wanted your advice on some of the legal particulars of this new venture. No, don’t be ridiculous, sweetie. The length of time you’ve spent practicing has no bearing on how much faith I have in you.”

Evidently she was speaking not to Blair, but the girl’s elder sister August.

“And really, if things keep going the way they are with this new set of clients, and I’m able to expand the business, well then, I just might have the room to take you on in a regular consulting position!” she continued. “Only if you want that, of course. Far be it from me to make you embarrassed at the thought of working side-by-side with your mother who works from home, even though I’m beginning to make something of a name for myself.”

As she rambled merrily on with August, Tamatha’s unoccupied hand reached across the desk. With her palm and outspread fingers plastered on the glass, the smearing and yellowing pattern of her flesh reminded Carl of her sole slung in the restrictive nude stocking. At first moving without apparent aim, her fingers located a pencil resting beside the keyboard. Wrapping it into her grip, Tamatha palmed the writing utensil, letting it slide in and out of her fist before pushing it back in. Then, following an uncertain minute of this fiddling practice, her hand swooped down below the desk’s surface. Her fingers reached out, holding the pencil like a lance, with the sharpened graphite tip aimed directly for the human leech clinging to her arch.

Carl tensed at the sight of the weapon approaching. One little stick, and the dark point would impale him onto the gritty nylon. Just before the moment of impact, however, Tamatha expertly spun the pencil in her hand, rotating the graphite away and instead driving the pink bludgeoning eraser toward Carl. This time she didn’t withdraw at the last instant, and smacked her half-inch hubby square in the back with the rounded rubber nub.

Air exited Carl’s shrunken lungs in one sad puff, thanks to the fat eraser compressing on his spine. He supposed he ought to be grateful that Tamatha was poking him with the eraser side instead of the pencil’s business end, though it was tough to see the positive when he still had a thick wooden rod prodding at him, guided by the strength of a monumental goddess-hand, while he was oh-so-conveniently dangled from her stocking underside by a noose that would kill him in one stroke if that eraser struck just a little harder. Still, Tamatha didn’t hesitate to test her husband’s already tenuous position, nudging and jabbing him with the buoyant bubblegum-pink stopper. She pinched the pencil between her thumb and forefinger, not even requiring a full fist to stab at him with the eraser or use it like a battering ram. Every squishy blow, though it couldn’t in of itself damage Carl’s abused body, threatened further to dislodge him and send him careening toward the unknown. Briefly, after twenty or thirty pokes, the little guy considered the remote option of pleading with his wife to stop, but he reminded himself that such a gesture would not only prove 100% fruitless, but also deplete what precious energy he had left to spare.

“What’s that? You’re coming over to the house today? Tonight? Oh, that’s wonderful, August!” Tamatha enthused. Her shining voice suggested such elation, Carl could have only hoped himself to make his wife project such joy at any point in their marriage before. He sincerely doubted he ever had or could, really. “You’re always so funny, sweetie, suggesting we wouldn’t make room at the table for you whenever you decided to visit. I know how hard they work you at that law firm. You deserve a home-cooked meal now and again. Let me take care of you and Blair again. Like when you were little. It’s more worthwhile to me than any business I can drum up from my office here.”

Her pencil had ceased whacking Carl in the back, which was a blessing, but as usual he only traded one poison for another. Tamatha now simply kept the eraser stump poised hard on her husband’s shoulder blades, pushing firmly and only increasing the pressure as the conversation above carried blissfully on, per her new habit, without even hinting to August that something was amiss. This meant he no longer had to worry about falling, but there was also surely a limit to what a feather-weight half-inch body could take in blunt force trauma before he simply popped. The harder Tamatha pressed, the tighter Carl found himself splayed on the cross-section flank of sheer nylon flap and ribbon-shaped strip of sole flesh. His face was rubbed into the netting until the gridwork tattooed his face again; his chest and legs suffered the same caustic fate; Carl’s weary erection, resurrected for what seemed like the thousandth time in less than twenty-four hours, was jammed into the pliable apex of a silken wrinkle. To the formerly sex-starved perv, it felt much more like hammering his member into Tamatha’s womanhood, the tighter and wetter the sweat-painted wrinkle became. Through the burn, he let his mouth hang open and a moan of impossible pleasure escape.

Then the giantess began to twist. Almost in perfect time with her chipper phone commentary to August, Tamatha swirled the pencil eraser on her husband. This in turn rotated him and his spread-eagle limbs like the hands of a tiny clock, making Carl more nauseous than ever but also heightening his already-substantial S&M-style euphoria. He both gagged from vertigo and whined for release due to the pencil’s screw-driving motion.

Tamatha herself even started reacting to the touch, her happiness from the conversation aside, by sighing low and soft like dripping molasses. Despite his sickness, Carl realized his wife was merely scratching an itch on her foot, using his shrimpy body as the tool of her relief. His spinning queasiness, his pain and suffering, his spent tears, and his gifted cum amounted to nothing more for Tamatha than the temporary and likely-minor appeasement of her tired, itchy foot. Carl was giving everything he had, in some cases literally, and yet it did nothing more than gently amuse this astronomic landmark of a foot: its essence immortalized by the clay-smooth yet mature flesh, violet-and-acrid-toejam flavored aura, and an ever-shifting tesseract of wrinkle shapes and sensuality.

“You want to do what? Speak to your father?” Tamatha snickered into the phone. “I can certainly try, though I believe he’s tied up at the moment.”

In the haze of cum and foot-sweat, Carl processed his wife’s half of the conversation, but could scarcely believe what he was hearing. August wanted to talk to him? His older daughter hadn’t spoken to him in so long, not out of seeming distaste, he believed, but distance and preoccupation. Now she was asking for him, but Tamatha wouldn’t be able to grant the request. In that moment, one last ember of hope warmed Carl’s withered heart. He’d been through so much since yesterday. His life, his routine, and his status as a human were ripped away thanks to his put-upon wife and younger daughter, but maybe August was his ticket out of this madness. She was a lawyer, after all, always head-strong and bold, dedicated to preserving justice wherever she could. August, his beautiful firstborn, would see how wrong this was, would see past his sins, and deliver him to safety, so Carl could finally begin healing the Turner family’s psychological wounds which he had inflicted.

“I know, dear, he’s keeping busy… yes, usually on those video games of his, but today, he’s actually being productive! Imagine that, yes,” Tamatha continued with whimsy. Her pencil had slowed its twisting pace, but still cranked the eraser on Carl’s back, pancaking him so hard to her malleable sole that foot-flesh and nylon had begun to swell up around his shape like pastry in a cookie-cutter. The shrunken insect’s sexual releases had become so frequent that Carl could barely distinguish them now from the grinding discomfort in between. “I know, isn’t it something? Your father’s finally found himself gainful employment! What’s that? How, you ask? Oh, you know. It took a little push from me and your sister, and from her dear friend Larissa, but your father’s discovered his dream job. It all started when he responded to an ad in the paper. It sounded too good to be true, but it turned out to be true after all, and too good. He’ll be working from home now, just like me, contributing to the harmony of this household and, best of all, earning his keep. This is his first day. I haven’t spoken to him much, but I get the feeling he’s doing a marvelous job so far, or at least as well as someone could do without any real experience. But, he’ll improve. I’ll see to that. If he can keep this up on the regular, I think things will be just splendid from now on. Don’t you worry, August, Blair and I will fill you in on the whole thing once you get here later for dinner. I love you, my sweet girl! Buh-bye!”