Deviant Downsizing (Chapter 17) (Patreon)

Still, unlike the two weeks prior, all this strife and desire wasn’t enough to push Mason over the edge. It dumbfounded him into oblivion. Maybe his mother simply believed in him too much, he thought. Or maybe he was subconsciously so scared of losing these opportunities to bask in the flat-suppurated grease of her feet that his own anatomy wouldn’t allow him to grow up any further past this new low. It seemed possible now that his deviant power was never going to manifest under his full control, and by putting him through these daily tribulations, they may as well have been sending electric shocks through an already-cold corpse. But Lori didn’t give up that easily.

“All right, kiddo…” she said at last, while unpeeling Mason from the living radiator of her sole. Which led the boy to believe that they were just admitting defeat and calling it a day, while he was still stubbornly locked-in at a half-inch high. Yet that turned out not to be the case, since she didn’t set him back down on the table. Instead her hand descended lower, coming closer to the carpet, then diverted toward the vacant leather-cracked maw of an olive-green work flat: the same shoe into which Mason had hornily crawled and inspired this unconventional superpowered training in the first place. “…this way isn’t getting us anywhere. Not anymore. It’s time to try something different. Or, I guess I should say something we’ve tried before, but just with a purpose this time. Not an accident, like before. So, I’m going to put you back in my shoe, and wear it around. I’m going to wear… you. I told you it might come to this. I hoped we wouldn’t have to. The last thing I’d ever want is to put you in danger, or to upset you worse than I’ve already had to, by keeping you down by my feet so much lately. But, we know it already worked before, when you were stuck down there. Maybe the problem is that we’ve let you get used to this, being out here in the open, when what you really need is that extra kick to force your power out and put it to work.”

This was a tough argument for Mason to counter, even while rejuvenated panic was already rippling through him. He was at once eager and horrified to think of repeating that previous near-disaster, when he was trampled inside the dark dank sweat aquarium of his gigantic mother’s shoe. Even if she was aware of him this time, and therefore able to stop herself from crushing him beneath the full uncaring force of her natural stride. Despite his seemingly improved durability, he still understood so little about his physical limits while this size, and the list of things that could go wrong seemed endless. Still, even if Mason was able to sob and plead his mother into making a different decision (which he knew wouldn’t work), none of those frightening doubts could outmatch the lascivious itch he felt to reexperience that insane hyper-concentrated fever dream of his well-buried underfoot fantasy. He was aching for this. Especially right now, having just spent more than an hour suffering and luxuriating among the festering sweat-caked aura of Lori’s sole without even the freedom to pay off his fiending libido by either desperate licking or a much-needed climax. Something had to give.

So Mason offered no protest when his mother reared her ginormous bare foot over the opening of the shoe and stuffed it inside. Déjà vu swallowed him at the same time as her wide-soled shadow, as he was instantly reminded of the last harrowing occasion he was bottled down in here, back when he had to wonder whether or not he’d make it out alive. Even without that fear still in play, however, and assured that his colossal parent would be careful while she knowingly treaded on him, little could be done to assuage the feeling that these walls were closing in on him. Or more accurately, the ceiling was, as the giantess’s vast brawny slab of gleaming wrinkle-guttered sole turf descended into place. Right over him. Lori at least had the kindness not to do this with the same violent force she always used while mindlessly donning her flats in a harried flash so she wouldn’t be late for work. But a softer entry wasn’t going to make things any easier to handle once she was marching about with Mason stowed aboard and resolutely stomped into that same perspiration-gooshing negative space.

He rolled below her forward-cruising arch crescent with the chaotic helplessness of someone tumbling down a steep hill. Then without further delay, Mason felt Lori relocating her feet side-by-side, then slowly propelling the full weight of her statuesque six-foot-four body weight into her heels while she stood upright on him. Though naturally, from her son’s half-inch vantage, she’d become more of a nine-hundred-foot-high valkyrie. At least she appeared that huge while he could see her in full, but now Mason couldn’t see anything except an eerily-familiar void. In either case, he was quickly reminded that it was best to keep his eyes shut tight while stuck in here, as his puny frame was flattened supine up into the doughy curvature of Lori’s undersole isle with an ear-popping squelch like the sound of a melon rupturing under a car tire. No harm had come to Mason, just like last time. But the volume of puddled sweat still leftover in here, plus the fresh torrents spouting forth from her skin every time the fire-manipulating deviant had another heat surge, meant that the previous hour spent airing her peds out on the coffee table was basically for naught. Within the first ten steps Lori took around the living room, the inside of her run-down green flat was rendered so moisture-slogged and microwave-muggy again that it felt to Mason like she’d still been wearing them continuously since this morning, before she left for school.

What followed was a turbulent trip down sense-memory lane. Except unlike last time, when Mason was only imprisoned in his mother’s flat for a matter of minutes while she made a pit stop at the house, Lori showed no sign of this exercise concluding so quickly. Instead, she meandered through the house at a stately pace – looping from room to room, going up and down the stairs – with no destination in mind. The boy could tell she was carefully exacting mercy on him, by conscientiously restraining the full potential of each step from coming down on him in an avalanche of sole flesh. Which was something, at least. But neither was Lori moving with eggshell-walking tenderness on him, or favoring her other leg with a limp so as to keep her half-inch offspring from ever becoming the filling for a high-tension sandwich between her beefy oncoming arch and that liquid-claggy insole. This meant that those repeated impacts with the ground were only slightly more forgiving than what Mason was put through on that last occasion, and there were far more of them to contend with now, as his titanic parent ensured he got a second consecutive hour of up-close-and-personal time spent with her unwashed foot on their stroll round and round the house.