For Richer, For Smaller (Chapter 8)

Glorious sensualized adrenaline immediately overrode the six-inch fellow’s brainstem, transforming all his prior resentment at Lillian’s conjugal slacking with just one giantess-sized step into a state of ironically high-alert peacefulness. So THIS was true love, huh? For the first time as the shrunken man of the house, his backside wasn’t cozily molded into the memory foam yield of that ever-present mat when his wife’s foot collided with and submerged him so utterly in her butter-soft hard-clenched sole flesh. It was just the chilly unforgiving plain of unmopped tile which met his spine, making it feel much more distinct that he wasn’t lying hornily on a bed awaiting his lover to consensually give him the business, but instead slammed unexpectedly against a wall by a much-stronger opponent and held there in her thrall. He’d done it. He’d gotten through to her, one way or another. They were finally doing this thing for real.

And the crossing of that final barrier (or rather what he believed to be final) certainly brought its fair share of ornamental discomforts that Tony had yet to experience at this size. Of course he had been trampled numerous times on hard floors back when he still his old overly-huge self, and so he believed he had at least a basic expectation of what he’d feel now, namely in terms of unpadded strain on specific pressure points like his shoulder blades, hips, and the back of his skull. But once more, no frequency of past experiences while serving as his wife’s lusty welcome mat could’ve adequately prepared Tony for this. It hurt, with no justifying caveat required. In the split-second it took for Lillian to bring her underfoot hammer of justice down upon him and next shift the majority of her body weight into a single leg, rather than distributing it between both, Tony felt himself rapidly cycle through phases of physical irritation, total discomposure, bona fide pain, dizzy numbness, and then right back out the other side of non-feeling into an even harsher bone-cramp. Naturally it wasn’t just this floor’s rigidity to blame for this prickling assault making its way through his whole backside, since the ground was still only the accomplice to the real mastermind bruiser here: Lillian’s right foot, pushing down on him for the first time since his shrinkage without an ounce of reluctance in her.

If anything, in fact, the scorned giantess seemed to be putting more active effort into borderline-violently animating every region of her gargantuan ped at once while elongating this impulsive low-altitude stomp into five, then ten, then twenty seconds and beyond of the most painful and simultaneously exciting trounce Tony had ever received. For a week and a half now, she’d evidently done everything in her power to stand upon her shrunken hubby as disaffectedly as possible, playing a statue and no-doubt trying to will her physique into feather-lightness so as to avoid harming him. Because the only motion the six-incher ever detected in her stance before now was the subtle tweaking and firming of micro-musculature beneath that smooth carapace of gorgeously crease-dimpled undersole sleekness. Now, however, this entire vibrant fresco of beefy sole structure was tremulously awakened, growing stronger and re-tessellating busy smush-textured wrinkles every half-instant. Lillian’s pink-pawed toes were curled down hard like a fist, and her whole foot was twisting back and forth by differentials of a few inches each way, as though she’d stepped on a bug and meant to grind down until it was reduced only to a twitchy pre-mortem paste. The sensory overload for Tony of this uniquely unguarded surprise-trample rivaled its uptick in ache factor for sheer dominating oomph. In one fell swoop of his leviathan spouse’s foot, he felt ruthlessly conquered and utterly satisfied. Truly, no possible spoken word that Lillian might’ve used next to debate him further could’ve ever topped the perfection of this gift.

“Gggrrrmmmppphhh…” Tony involuntarily vocalized like a sadly deflating balloon, though the belabored sound was largely absorbed into the ball of his wife’s foot, since his whole face and everything below it was so thickly ensconced against gyrating downward-boring sole bulk. He’d been known to emit all manner of noises during these sensuous unwinding sessions with Lillian, most of them suggestively orgasmic moans, or sighs over-emphasized on purpose to help guide her technique. At worst, in the old days of his favorite hobby, he’d have reason to let out a heavier grunt if her heel happened to find its way over his lungs without warning, but those occasions were never more than briefly startling, and always shifted back to the purely pleasurable when she noticed her mistake and apologized.

Right now, however, the giantess was working Tony like the gas pedal of a stalled car, pumping and revving with increasing fury, but going nowhere at all. This was absolutely uncharted territory. And that ugly little noise she’d squeezed out of him, like the panged surrender attempt of a body whose fetishistic mind hadn’t yet realized its own best interests, marked a shift into the least-welcome experience Tony had ever endured beneath a woman’s feet, let alone a single one concentrated over him with such heavy finality that it felt like a coffin lid getting secured in place. That outcome was so unexpected, and his own bliss so inevitably presumed, it wasn’t until the shrinker had been forced to grimly wheeze that he realized this… actually didn’t feel so good. In fact, it was downright unpleasant. Sure, there’d always been some sting and soreness tolerably interwoven with the mightier thrill of being submissively immersed beneath Lillian’s queenly-pampered bare feet, and in fact that dichotomy was necessary for Tony’s obsession. Never before, though, had the scales tipped so far in the other direction, to where his vague consciousness of that enticing warmth, pressure-based stimulation, and lily-cushioned skin texture native to her prized feet was so thoroughly cancelled out, atrociously overshadowed instead by the yet-unimagined weight of a titaness’s body weaponized upon him.

This wasn’t right. None of it was right. Everything hurt like hell, he couldn’t budge a muscle below the jaw, and pathetic bleats were pouring from his lips like a ghost’s prayer. It was official: they’d gone too far. Though Tony’s brain was still dumbly grappling with the inexplicable revelation that there even existed a version of “too far” when it came to receiving the sultrily punishing brunt of Lillian’s naked soles, let alone that they’d just surpassed it, he felt an urgent need to get away. Retreat. Regroup. Come to terms with whatever misunderstanding had led to this grievous error, and if necessary, offer apologies to one another. Surely that, along with a heftier monthly allowance than usual for Lillian, would help smooth everything over, and they would find the correct balance again that worked best for everyone. First things first, though. Tony needed the crushing burdensome tribulation of this overdone trample session, and its agony-teasing force, to conclude as soon as humanly possible.

Having never once believed he’d ever actually have reason to make use of this particular lifeline, the little guy did as Lillian had always made him promise to do if he was in crisis below her, and fought to alert her of his distress with everything he had. First Tony wriggled his arms and legs as fervently as he could, accomplishing little more than unsettling vibrations which were still lost against the powerful flexing sashay of Lillian’s right foot. Then he parted his lips and attempted to roar her name in the most commanding voice he could muster, but with only a wisp of oxygen left to spare, his manly cry was quieted to the tragic whimper of someone hobbling toward the bathroom after eating bad fish. Which basically exhausted all his options for hitting the panic button. Of course the one and only time he’d ever wished to make Lillian cease stepping on him was also the one and only time she’d made it impossible to do so. It felt like the honey-haired giantess had been standing here on her husband, pushing and twisting and smothering, for minutes on end now, when it fact barely forty seconds had elapsed. Totally unable to physically resist, and silenced from any helpful outbursts, Tony’s options now were limited to rasping up last glimmers of usable air with lip-smacking desperation that caused him to kiss Lillian’s sole flesh, though for once, that wasn’t his aim.

She had to stop on her own, though, he internally reasoned. And soon. The woman was so terrified of hurting him, and had been from that first time years before on their fourth date (how he’d waited that long to be under her feet, he’d never know) when he’d convinced her to walk on him, that just as soon as she’d ridden out this current show of wild stampeding enthusiasm – appreciated by Tony at first but ultimately far too strong to enjoy – she was sure to come back to her senses and make nice in a flurry of melodramatic stammers. That was just Lillian’s way. Plus, though Tony was fiercely ready for this unforeseen bodily-trying torment to curtail, he distracted himself from any temple-pulsing pain by delighting at the thought of how easily he’d win their apparent argument, now that his wife had temporarily lost control and overreacted so brashly. After this cumbersome episode, there was no chance she’d ever give him any lip about handling his underfoot needs again. Smooth sailing was on the horizon.

Thirty-some seconds later, Lillian did indeed step off of her half-foot husband, though with none of the emergent sorrow he’d expected. Instead she rolled her sole away from him with elegant slowness as though lazily popping her heel out of a dangled stiletto. And having pressurized Tony so densely against the powerful slab of her nude arch, its brawny peach-lustrous façade thickly tensed and now laced with a light spackling of effort-fueled perspiration through those numerous flesh crinkles, the shrinker could actually feel gravity temporarily outmatched by his adhesive embrace to Lillian’s foot. This caused him to remain “stuck” to her skin for the first couple inches her sole hovered off the floor, before he limply detached, and sensations other than near-injurious tension crept back through his extremities. With her toes balletically pointed above him, several drops of laundry water that had precariously collected atop her foot were now allowed to come spilling off. A surprising volume of cold moisture plopped splash zone-style against Tony’s beleaguered face, indicating Lillian hadn’t stopped wringing out that negligee while she tromped him into a newly-unwanted brand of subjugation.

After he’d wiped the water from his eyes, and feebly begun to recuperate from that boundary-shattering bout of rather-incredible strain (though he estimated far more than twenty-two minutes would be required for a full convalescence this time), the six-inch CEO gazed up the regal monument-like immensity of his six-and-a-half-story-high spouse. Ensuring to twist his puny face into a pity-inspiring grimace for maximum guilt-trip value (which wasn’t even that much of a stretch after the bruise-collecting pangs that afflicted his entire body for that endless seventy-second disaster of a trample), Tony expected to meet her tearful eyeline and be greeted by a blubbery hail of crooned amends, if not a bit of deserved groveling on Lillian’s part. After all, she’d come very close to screwing the pooch here, regardless of his miniature body’s well-proven durability. What if she’d really hurt him?

But there was no remorseful glisten in her eyes. No choked sob in her throat. The giantess wasn’t even shivering or clutching a hand over her mouth. Lillian was simply staring down at Tony with the same frostier stranger-appropriate emptiness as before, albeit in a state of muted bewilderment herself. It was like the couple had both stumbled, dazed, from the smoking wreckage of a car crash and were trying to ascertain without words whether they’d just experienced the same catastrophe, or merely dreamed it. The woman blinked several times, exhaled like she meant to speak, then in lieu of doing so, dropped the soggy nightgown back in the open washer and stalked hurriedly out of the laundry room. Still supine where she’d left him, Tony sensed turbulent emotionally-charged eminence about Lillian as his personal giantess swiftly exited his view, but her oddly fraught aura wasn’t founded in either timid contrition or white-hot rage. In fact, he couldn’t read her at all. All the shrunken mat-man had to go off during this ineptly silent aftermath for the time being, then, was his own abiding needlepointed-numbness leftover from that overindulgent escapade beneath Lillian’s impetuous sole, and a curiously unkilled hard-on tenting his doll-like pants. Though for the first time in days, Tony hadn’t climaxed mid-trample.

This was it. He’d gotten everything he wanted. Everything he’d ever vividly imagined for himself whenever his spouse used to march and pivot barefoot upon his six-foot-three frame like a catwalk. So why then was this long-unrequited sexual high spoiled by an acute pit in his gut?