Chapter #3Erm, I'd rather not. by: jayjay   Please forgive me for opting to use the third person in my additions. Doing so simply conforms to my writing style and allows for my best writing. Also, I went ahead made Claire a senior at a local college that plays softball. If this goes against your wishes, please let me know. I had a few ideas with her and felt this aspect would lend itself well. Thanks!
While used to cleaning his stepmother's shoes fairly regularly, the prospect of cleaning them while tiny posed too many intolerable uncertainties. The chances of his stepmother, Aunt, and older sister losing their inhibitions and keeping him forever tiny and at their feet was simply too great a risk. An all around bullshitter, Tom felt he could finagle his way out of this without offending Cathy. This was no small task, to be sure, as Cathy took any disrespect, real or imagined, deeply personal. The proof of her temper and superior attitude lay in the scores of lives she'd snuffed beneath her wrinkly, pungent feet and the souls forever destroyed through transformation into she and the rest of the household matriarchy's shoe insoles. However, it was worth the exertion, Tom thought, because he honestly felt that once he was tiny and helpless at her feet, Cathy would instantly refuse to see him as her son any longer. She would see him only as a foot toy to be played with and eventually cruelly disposed of as she had done so many, many times with an assortment of people, including several close friends of his. Their chilling pleas for mercy where there was none to be had, coupled with the greasy and bloody squeaks their pulverized bodies made when Cathy scrunched her toes over and around their ruined corpses that resembled extremely tiny inkblots, sent a shudder down his spine. No, better to try and talk his way out of being shrunk and face her wrath than willingly place himself at her smelly feet, tiny and vulnerable.
Tom gave a measured response to his stepmother, who stood a full head taller than him in her barefeet and had begun brushing his hair back with her forefinger. She had an amused look on her face as she awaited her son’s response. Looking back, Tom could see that this interaction was an orchestration, done to put taboo thoughts in his head and break down long standing inhibitions within him. In the end though, knowing this in retrospect meant nothing in regards to what horrid circumstances awaited him at the feet of the only family he had ever known, and would know, for that matter. As a master at physically destroying others with her feet, Cathy also prided herself on breaking people down emotionally and psychologically, allowing for themselves to freely give their lives up to the sweaty creases and crevices of her powerful feet. Being demoralized beyond comprehension, more than a few of Tom’s shrunken friends had begged her to keep their tiny bodies at her feet until she simply sweat them away. After being subjected to her superior physical prowess, then shrunk and forced to smell her feet, any self respect these insignificant bug boys had dissolved completely. For the past few years, Cathy witnessed a growing desire to experience her stepson losing his own self respect, and eventually, his life, at her feet. She was, in summary, a beautiful and powerful sociopath, who took perverse pleasure in having people smell and experience her feet at tiny sizes. But nothing on this earth gave Cathy greater satisfaction than to knead and squeeze boys Tom’s age beneath and between her toes, as she loved how the very smell of her feet was often more than enough to erode the will to live from them. Her pungent feet would break them before they grew old enough to experience life do the same.
Her long awaited destruction of her adopted son would soon be at hand, she told herself. “Mom, uh, I really would like to help clean the insides of your shoes, all of them for that matter, but my friend Mike and I were messing around last night and I hurt my back pretty bad. I mean, it’s nothing serious, but I’d rather feel better before I’m shrunk for the first time, you know?” Cathy’s bemused smirk didn’t change during Tom’s pathetic attempt get out of her request. She could see right through him; past his attempt to appear sincere with his lie. She knew what the reason really was: He was horny, not in the sexual sense, per se, but filled with a nervous excitement and taboo apprehension towards experiencing what had become a mounting obsession of his: knowing firsthand what it was like to be insignificantly small and at her feet.. She wasn’t the least surprised, as it be impossible for a boy to have been raised with such physically imposing women, who used their feet in unspeakable ways, to not eventually turn into a submissive weakling with a fetish for their stinky feet. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry to hear that. I had no idea, but now that you mention it, you do seem rather ginger as of late. You tell that Mike that if he isn’t careful and hurts my little boy again, I’ll gladly suffocate him under my big, smelly toe!” Surprised by the certainty in his stepmother’s tone, Tom gulped. “Oh, I will Mom! But we were just playing around.” Glancing down at her large barefeet, Tom followed suit. He watched as Cathy casually rubbed the toes of her right foot over a slipper, cracking her toes as she did so. From there, she turned slightly to the side, raised foot up so that her toes supported it, giving Tom a perfect sight of the deeply wrinkled, slightly yellowed sole of her foot. “I know he didn’t mean to hurt you, Tom. But, sometimes we do things we don’t mean to, don’t we? Sometimes, we think we know what we’re doing, what we want, and find out later it isn’t what we wanted at all. Has that ever happened to my little boy, hmm?” Cathy looked at her boy, who was mesmerized by her foot, probably pondering what it would feet like to have all that smelly foot flesh squished around his 1 inch little body. She let his eyes linger and groin stiffen a moment longer before breaking the silence.
“Well, if my little boy isn’t up to being shrunk and cleaning his mother’s shoes, then I supposed the next best thing for you to do is to clean them like your normally do. Think you can do that?” Oh, yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem, mom.” Tom hearts beat faster every minute he stood next to this Amazonian woman that served as his mother. He’s seen her foot play and indeed thought of how demoralizing it would be to be at her utter mercy, smelling her feet, absorbing their sweat and oils like the lowest form of life. “Great, I do appreciate you help Tom. I cannot tell you how much more obedient you are than your sisters. Speaking of which, Clair has a softball game soon and Ann and I, along with the rest of your sisters, promised we’d go. You should go and support her sometime to, Tom. I know you two don’t always see eye to eye, but she’s your sister and you should try to appreciate her more. But, you have more than enough do occupy your time today. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to clean my entire shoe closet. Many of them are really scruffy from the winter and I’d like them to be ready for next fall, if you don’t mind.
Poised to complain, Tom held back. With no one home and permission to be in her room, now was the perfect time to fantasize and smell her shoes in privacy. Heck, he could even go through her clothes hamper and smell her socks and nylons! No, this was perfect. If they smelled too strong or the idea repulsed him, he could forget about ever asking to be made small or anything like that. It was a win/win situation. “Okay Mom, I’ll do it, but you own me! I mean, uh, you owe me!” Cathy smiled at his mistake. She had always owned him, and very soon, if her suspicions were right, so would her feet. “I’ll make a deal with you. You clean all of my shoes, inside and out as best you can, and I’ll buy you that new game you’ve being going on about. Deal.?” “Yep” was all Tom said. .Twenty minutes later, having said goodbye to everyone, Tom found himself in his stepmother’s room. He’d closed the blinds and made sure the doors were locked, just in case.
Exhaling a lungful of air, the timid boy grabbed a pair of Cathy’s black flats she’d worn recently. Laying down on his stomach, he placed the large shoe in front of his face. So this is what it must feel like to be at my mom’s feet, he though. Her feet were truly huge, as her shoes testified. Now, the moment of truth: Should he go through with his mounting fetish and smell his mother’s shoes? Already, a distant reek could be discerned, despite his face not being directly over or in the well-worn shoe. Or should he reign himself in now before it was too late and he developed an unstoppable fetish for his family’s feet? Who knew where this could lead or wind up? Thoughts of Cathy mangling his body under her toes would be utterly scary and humiliating, but the thought of Claire doing so actually scared him. Claire, in her tube socks, feet propped up on the living room table, with her toes scrunched around him as she verbally abused him, was intolerable. If he enjoyed what he was about to do and Cathy found out, that was real and dangerous possibility. What should he do?
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