Deviant Downsizing (Chapter 16) (Patreon)

Well before Mason was close enough to even touch her feet, that odor reached out to him in sticky tendrils with a newfound fury. Even though Lori wasn’t doing anything differently day-to-day to warm up her feet for him, so far as her son could tell, his latest downsizing alone was enough to drastically evolve and empower that acrid brine-clotted taste in his perception. The fumes didn’t merely strike him twice as hard in a living riptide of sweltering funk – though that was certainly true, too – but somehow smelled like whole new permutations of crossbred stench had been invented, just by Mason having to sample them from such a lowly height. Scents like decayed skunk, chlorine cocktails, burnt onions, and fishy garbage all delusionally snaked through his airways in tandem with the more-traditional horrors of purified toejam and leather musk. Mason’s gait took on a drunken stagger the closer he came. His breaths sharpened with such repulsion that he sounded on the brink of bursting into tears. Yet still, the loathsome defilement of his every inhale by Lori’s appalling underfoot redolence couldn’t stop him, as the thrill had only increased in equal measure. He wanted this more than ever, no matter how diseased it made him feel.

Nor was Mason deterred by the extra-dimensional slime factor felt when he at last pancaked himself in direct contact with the source of that sweaty sleaze. The texture of his mother’s superhumanly generous perspiration, like its accompanying fragrance, had become something else entirely to him. Immersing his tiny self in that cloudy dribbled-out grime, so toxically packed with pheromonal vinegar, didn’t just share in its moisture, but created the sensation of being wholly consumed by it like an independent glob-based alien entity. At only a half-inch tall, there was so little surface of Mason left for those gallons of standing fluid to penetrate that he barely had to hug his parent’s immense sole for a single moment before all of him was rendered just as soupily saturated down to the bone. The heat as well had climbed to such unfathomable peaks, courtesy of Lori’s power cycling out those frequent flare-ups, that it felt like she had solar generators hidden under the surface. Her soles were piping out a star-blazing climate that anyone not used to this echelon of temperature couldn’t have even come near, let alone physically touched ground zero. Only Mason could’ve endure this. Which in some strange way, was almost its own unofficial metaphysical ability: his tolerance for his mother’s freakishly dirty sweat-enflamed feet functioning at full capacity, while his “real” power for size-changing still acted as a crippling handicap more than a boon.

“I know. It’s bad. Especially now that you’re this small. I can’t even imagine how awful it must smell for you. How hot, and how… gross it must feel. But you can’t stop. Not when we’re so close,” Lori sympathetically declared, still believing that all this was pure torment for Mason. She struggled to watch, but forced herself to do so anyway, while searching for any hint of improvement to show through in his body language. While they’d so far learned that this practice of extreme sense-overwhelming intensity at her dirty peds was the key to stimulating her son’s deviant talents, they had yet to nail down a system for inducing a guaranteed stature-shift on cue, or even one that would reliably grow him rather than going in the other direction. “Just because that last time made you this small, you can’t let that discourage you. We ARE making progress, you know. I can see it. Those times you’ve been able to make it happen all by yourself, without any help from my feet, means that something here is working. I promise. Any day now, we’ll get you there. Who knows, maybe even today? We just have to keep building up your momentum. It’s like jumpstarting a car. Sometimes it takes a few good tries.”

As always, Mason was sincerely grateful for his mother’s fierce optimism working so hard to buoy his spirits. Even while that appreciation was matched by gut-turning contrition at the secret sexually-charged rush he got from these power-therapeutic sessions. Though in truth, her persuasion wasn’t required, because Mason wasn’t disheartened by his current entrapment at half an inch tall. He might have been, if he didn’t happen to possess such a profound magnetism toward the giantess’s gorgeous oversized peds – which only gained strength the larger, hotter, and smellier they became to him. But he did. So where others might have been demoralized by such a bugifying setback, as Lori understandably presumed, this development just added fuel to the fire of his lustful craving. The only thing he could feel upset about now was the ever-looming risk of his mother finding out about his disturbingly-indulgent inner self.

Though once Mason had cuddled himself up to her foot’s raunch-soaked landscape for the first time from this particular size, and snuffed in enough brain-knotting aroma to send anyone on a rotten olfactory trip ten times over, he’d all but forgotten that concern. This was all he cared about, and that lewd focus was only heightened by the drug-like haze of her sole-squeezed pungency melting through his consciousness itself more powerfully than ever, thanks to his size. He instinctively kept his jaws clamped shut, knowing he couldn’t possibly explain it to her if he started openly worshipping Lori’s oily arch creases rather than coughing his lungs inside-out over them. Still, per his parent’s directions, he was free to breathe in as much of that detestable miasma as he pleased, getting dizzier by the minute. He shivered from equal parts disgust and invigoration while droves of ectoplasmic saltwater wept from her pores and drenched straight through him. Mason was barely trying now to hide the bulge in his pants – made even more visible while his clothes were sopped skin-tight to his anatomy by Lori’s sweat – but was saved from exposure just by nature of being so small that she probably couldn’t feel it nudging her.

This went on for more than an hour: the longest he’d yet endured without a break. It was a wonder to Mason that he hadn’t either vomited or orgasmed himself into a blackout yet, after such a magnificent overdose of his mountainous pyro-master mom’s grottiest feature. He writhed against her foot, ingesting enough boiling alkaline malodor to pickle his insides, and imprinted himself into that prune-soggy terrain of dimpled flesh like he meant to stick there permanently. Sometimes Lori reached over, pinching her son between two cautious fingertips so she could help nuzzle him even harder into her foot, then let go of him again when his sweat-slippery half-inch form started shaking so hard that it upset her too much to keep forcing him. At other times, she gently picked him up for repositioning, laying him across the hump of her heel or wedging him into a ticklish gap between her toes, in hopes that a rawer helping of sludge and stink across yet-untouched regions of her grimy underfoot biome might finally spark something in him.