Work From Home (Chapter 10)

Carl’s tightly-wound shape was folded into the brawny, mesh-encased wall of malleable foot-skin as it wrapped over him and around half of the desk leg. Tamatha pushed her foot into the pole, and after reassuring herself that her husband would not break before she received full repayment, increased the pressure. Once satisfied with the relief his stubby pinprick shape brought to her weary canvassed foot, firm but not poking, she began to rub. Like painting with her toes, she moved with precision, tracing the lines of a five-pointed star, but unconsciously so. Instead she let her foot be guided of its own accord like a true artist, since Tamatha did in fact have work to accomplish at the desk, even while she was happily restored by a long-overdue rubdown from her foot-fanatic spouse. The majority of the tiny man’s body, tied under chafing rubber, merely experienced this mounting impact and swirling strokes as painful constriction, but his face and junk, exposed to the fleshy intruder, received a far more intricate reunion with the prodigious foot of his usurping wife.

Tamatha’s ped remained in its most extended form: her toes flared, her sole arch hilly and blemish-less, her crystal-colored stocking stretched to its zenith. This meant that, with the fine weaving of the garment pulled back over a larger surface area, a dick as pathetically outclassed as Carl’s was, in comparison to the foot which used to comfortably fit around it, able to fit just barely between the opened latticework of the stocking’s architecture. With only the slightest effort, while her attention was in fact now paid entirely to more important matters on her monitor screen, Tamatha had single-footedly made a disciplinary cock-ring for her shrunken hubby out of perspiration-baked stocking threads. Carl himself couldn’t help but pontificate on the fact that, with his manhood now stingingly locked into place by his wife’s mouth-watering nylon, even if the rubber bands were to be cut, leaving him to the mercy of gravity, he would likely still dangle like a holiday ornament from the underside of his wife’s upwardly reclining foot, suspended only by his erection and a prayer.

Due to this crucial alchemy of sensual thrill and bodily risk, in no time at all, Tamatha’s self-massaging was milking her husband’s manhood just as efficiently, if not even more frequently, than had their daughter’s earlier trampling. The prior enjoyment of unimpeded humping with Blair’s sole was tainted this time by irritation and itching from the stocking, replacing some of that euphoria with cramping, but Carl had no power to diminish his erotic drive, as his wife’s foot was completely in the driver’s seat now, tempting and reaping his reluctant sexual gratitude with each coarse swipe across his impaired body.

Her sole’s appetite was just as bottomless as Carl’s fetish once was, though after today, he’d have to think twice about voluntarily cumming to the bottom of a foot ever again. Still, each drop of his seed contributed back toward the debts the shrunken pig had stockpiled in the lopsided marriage, as the buttery expanse of his wife’s hulking sole was spoiled by the fabled lotioning effect Larissa had taught to Blair. Tamatha was only now learning about the healing properties and pleasurable mini-sensations of this perk via a text message from her daughter in the other room, punctuated with a winking emoji from Blair. The empowered working wife smiled to herself at this tingly revelation, finally comprehending what Blair had meant when cryptically suggesting that the benefits of a shrunken foot-slave had to be experienced for oneself, and carried right on at her keyboard, bringing home the bacon from the comfort of her home itself.

Carl’s face, meanwhile, experienced an equally intense concentration of overwhelming sensations and dangers from his wife’s brushing foot, just as he had below the belt. Much like his time attached to his daughter’s sole, the little heathen had to suffer the caustic, swishing motion of the mega-sized stocking dragging and scraping over his head from every conceivable direction, until no part of his whimpering face wasn’t red from carpet burn and checkerboard-styled bruising. The musk of this predicament, too, was tainted by scents of stale nylon and salted flesh, though decidedly richer and more mature than the raw, youthful bite of Blair’s post-work stench.

The key, and most brutal, difference of all for Carl between Tamatha’s sanction and Blair’s was the color of the nylon accessory, a minute detail, which made all the difference in the world to him, despite being almost-inconsequential to the giant woman herself. Blair’s stockings were dark, obscuring and near-pitch black when bunched together, and had successfully abetted Carl’s denial of his position; it made it much easier to live with himself if he couldn’t actually seethe titanic foot he was currently being fucked by through the snipped glory hole in the fabric, especially since that previous foot belonged to his little girl.

However, he had no such crutch in this case, and Carl was forced to observe, as though through a microscope, the up-close-and-personal living landscape of his wife’s vibrant, crease-patterned, freckled pale-nectarine sole mass. No line or riveted gulch was a stranger to him; no flash of blushing skin pigment escaped his eyes; and with his nose and mouth buried up in the flattened wet gridwork of the stocking fibers strapped tight around the woman’s deserving foot, the harsh cheesy aromas and fleshy bittersweet flavors he’d let go to waste for so very long were now flooding his brainstem with the earthy, homey identity of Tamatha’s ped, as was only right. From a place of equal parts sorrow and humbling lust, reinvigorated by this family coup, Carl stuck out his shameful tongue and let it be raked across the mechanically swaying span of soggy nude nylon, which only sped up the pace of his renewed orgasm marathon.

The Turner household’s real earner eagerly got back to work, finding it more gratifying than ever to accomplish tasks at her computer with the unwavering support of her new office assistant below. She fired off emails, logged data, closed two pending sales, and even took a call from a prospective client, all while keeping her mammoth foot anchored upon her tiny husband, who hung in a limbo between tortuous smothering and sexual transcendence throughout. The entire business conversation passed amiably, without the slightest hint given to the caller that something was out of the ordinary, because for Tamatha, strangely, it wasn’t; if anything, her mood was better than ever, the day’s cumulative annoyances be damned, all thanks to Carl having found his true calling in life. In days past, she often found herself distracted while working from home, either by the loud volume of her husband’s video gaming upstairs, or simply the crushing weight of responsibility from supporting her family; those one-time cares, however, had melted, leaving only a purpose-driven mentality for Tamatha to embrace. Like what her daughter had found in her own eureka moment of independence and strength, again the symbiosis had clicked.

Meanwhile, the burly underside of the giantess’s foot did not retract away from its target for any reason whatsoever, making good instead on her promise to extract payment in full for footrubs spurned over lonely years. All motion took place along an x-y plane, grinding her husband’s body into every contour and obtuse curve of her abandoned sole, and thus ensuring both to never give Carl’s mouth a reprieve from its assumed suckling duties, or his hardened member the opportunity to slip out from the thread-vice in which it was now harrowingly imprisoned like a chastity belt.

“By the way, darling…” Tamatha said after a long while of productive silence. Coming to a break in her work, she glared blissfully down at him through the glass surface of the desk, now able to fondle his banded body using her black-painted toes and stout sole with greater, more cutting specificity. “…just as a reminder for the future, since I believe we’ll be having a professional as well as personal relationship from here on out, it’s not appropriate to use your boss’s computer for… certain adult activities.”

Just when Carl thought there were no more emotionally-ruinous shocks to deliver, no more rugs to pull out from under him, his damaged heart stopped pumping for several beats.

“Yes, dear, just so there’s no confusion, I am of course referring to the secret porn folder you keep hidden about seven files deep on my desktop, entitled “Random Stuff.” Really, a genius choice there, Carl. Not even a detective could’ve worked that one out. In any case, I am aware of how much photo and video content you’ve got stored here centered on ladies doing unspeakable things with their feet. I can’t fathom why anyone would need to do such a thing, especially when you’ve got your own probably-smut-riddled computer upstairs, but here we are, and despite you thinking you’re smart enough to keep it hidden for a couple of years now, I’ve known about it all along, its location, how often you add to it, and how you creep down here sometimes while I leave the house to rub one out to some busty blonde slapping a body builder’s hard-on with her French pedicure. I could’ve told you before, I suppose, but decided it was more informative for me to simply wait and watch. It’s almost depressing, really, when you think about it: you, a man who already married wellabove his league, who simply had to think of his wife occasionally in order to reap the rewards from his kinks, but instead of doing the bare minimum to keep her interested, he trespasses on her work-related property, filling it in supposed secret with disgusting imagery, and then later acts out those nauseating impulses by foisting them onto his daughter, his younger daughter, barely an adult herself, of all people. Anything to avoid making things right. That’s the legacy you’ve created for yourself, my beloved little husband. Tell me now: how does that make you feel?”

At this juncture, Tamatha withdrew her nude-stockinged foot from feeding off its victim, parting the pair for the first time in nearly an hour. Carl’s micro-member was reluctantly freed from the stocking pinhole, sending punishing shivers up his curled spine, and his tongue came unpeeled from the doughy flank of her foot-ball sampled between the straining clear fibers. Her fingers, then, arrived at the pole again to unbind him, though Tamatha made no effort to do so gently, jerking and letting the bands slap against the metal while she pried him out, not on Carl himself, as such a blow could’ve stopped his pulse for good, but nonetheless she was unafraid to let the retracting whack ring in his eardrums. When she had his bleary, limp body laid across her fingers again, the woman lifted him up toward her gorgeous jumbotron-sized countenance, awaiting his response with severe interest.

“It m-makes me… f-feel… bad…” he uttered, quiet as a mouse.

“Awww… well, isn’t that something? You feel bad, now that the cat’s out of the bag, and your every scrap of dirty laundry is airing. Rather convenient, really, that you chose only now to feel guilt, instead of during the endless days of laziness and selfishness you’ve spent like a leech on this family,” Tamatha simpered. She bounced her fingers gently beneath, knocking him around, but kept her tiny husband from being flung off her hand to his doom, as that would’ve been far too easy a fate. “Here’s the thing, dear. I can see how run-down you are after spending some time with me and our daughter, which I have to admit, does please me. However, I’ve also known you long enough to understand that you can’t be changed in a single day. In fact, I suspect it would take far longer than that to cause you to budge on even the smallest of issues. And you certainly are a small issue now. So, since I’ve finished up here for the night, but have already got my work cut out tomorrow, all I can say now is that you haven’t even begun to feel “bad” yet. But in time, you will, and I’ll be here every step of the way… and I do mean every single step. Because you have a truly inconceivable number of foot-rubs still to make up, and tonight was only the first drop in the bucket.”