Stephanie reclined in the white lounge chair next to the hotel's large, luxurious pool.  Adjusting her white bikini and playfully curling her long blonde hair, she gazed at the various people walking around her in the heat of a day ruled by the cloudless sky.  This Mexican tourist city was hot indeed.

Extending her left leg foward, she arched her foot back and forth, playfully exposing her hot sole to the searing sun, then curling her foot to create a shadow on the lounge.  She noticed the red toenail polish was starting to chip, and decided that her new servant would need to fix that later.

Taking a sip from her frozen beverage, she giggled at the tiny, tickling sensation on her sole.  Stephanie reached foward to touch her little, shrunken son, now strapped to her foot's sole, chest and face-first, with some miniscule strips of a shredded band-aid.

Pressing her warm fingers against his naked body, she gently engulfed him further into her foot's skin, his back already hot and most likely burnt from the blazing son.

Removing her finger, she whispered to her little boy as his partially-covered face murmured against her foot.

"You shouldn't have lied to me about going out with your friends, Zach," she said quietly and with relish.  "You might be a senior now, but you're still in high school--and mommy doesn't want you to get hurt by driving around with drunken idiots.  Maybe this...vacation of ours will teach you a lesson."

Stephanie sat back and exposed Zach to the sun once again by arching her foot upwards. Already, driplets of sweat were forming on her red sole, and as her son tried desperately to breath against the steaming skin, little bits of his mom's sweat drippled into his mouth.

"You know," she continued amongst the noise of the pool and patrons, "there's a lot of cute girls here.  I just saw a long-legged brunette walk by us.  If only she knew that a little boy was being baked on his mommy's foot, she might have taken you home for herself...but, then again, how could she take care of you the way I can?" Stephanie giggled.

Having shrunk Zach at her home with a hidden blend of chemicals in his dinner's water, she had waited patiently for this Mexican pool before removing him from her purse and adhering him to her foot.  Despite his movements, he was bound to her sole, and she knew each beat of her heart was pounding him in the chest, face and legs.  The torture was sweet indeed.

"I wonder if a little white shape will be left on my foot after I remove you," she said.  "A little shape with a head, legs, arms and body were the sun didn't get a chance to touch my feet...because you blocked it with your tiny body."  Stephanie wiggled her toes.

"Don't forget, Zach," she continued, once again reaching foward and pressing him deep into her foot.  "Tommorrow belongs to my right foot...and after that...who knows? Maybe my butt isn't getting a tan either," she laughed.  "I'd like a little boy-shape on my cheeks."

For his part, Zach could only cry quietly for mercy, but Stephanie's skin, now swollen with heat, had swelled around his nose and much of his mouth.  Zach was barely able to derive hot, humid oxygen that was completely tinged with his mother's foot odor.  Her bodywash fragrance had long since vanished, and as he sucked in meager air for his lungs, more hot, salty sweat ran onto his tongue and down his throat, filling his belly with his mom's foot juice.  Nor was his hair spared, now soaked in sweat.

His own sweat, now mingled with that of his mother, helped the sun to further bake and burn him.

In the distance, Zach heard the splash of children and adults playing in the pool.  The high-pitched giggles of girls his age tortured him as they walked past.  Out of the corner of his eye, he occasionally glimpsed some incredibly attractive girls with long, black hair and tight, supple bodies.  At times, his penis grew erect, and as his mother noticed this, she would shake her foot and press him deeper into her sole, punishing him for looking around at hope. 

"Another drink, miss?" a waitress asked.

"Yes," Stephanie replied, handing the curvy Mexican girl her empty glass and already feeling tipsy.  "I'm going to be here for a while." 

"Candace--no! Please!"  My shouts were useless. 

Candace, now a blond-haired, atheletic giantess compared to my shrunken, half-inch form, placed my naked body against the rough surface of the foot-file.  The texture of the file was similar to sandpaper, and as Candace placed a thin strip of clear tape across my legs, and another across my chest and arms, I knew the beige color of the file would completely hide my naked body.

The file's surface rubbed my back painfully, and Candace now grasped the file's handle as she exited the back room of Pedicure Palace.  Only moments before, I had entered the store to break off my relationship with her.  After three months of dating, my eyes had begun to "wander off" as I viewed the various attractive women at my college campus, and so I had come to her place of work to settle things.  Candace, apparently, didn't agree with my decision--and had sprayed me with a bottle before I could react.

Now, she brought the file and me into the store proper.  From my nauseating, upside-down position, I could see various women sitting in chairs as the workers filed their feet, rubbed lotion on them, gave them pedicures, and even provided clients with complimentary gel soles for their shoes.  The question was--what was Candace, now my ex-girlfriend, going to do with me?

My question was answered as Candace sat down at a stoll before one of the client chairs.  She was going to use the file on someone's foot...with me straped to it!

Looking up, I couldn't believe my eyes.  The women in the chair--Candace's client--was my own mother!  Short brown and spiky hair, tanned skin, white top and business skirt.  Next to the chair, I noticed her black high heels that she typically wore to work on Mondays.  What was Candace doing?!

My mom spoke.  "Good to see you again, Candace! I didn't know my appointment was with you today!" her voice boomed.

My mom's feet were placed on a stool in front of Candace, complete with pink toenail polish.

Candace responded.  "When I saw your name on the list this morning, I thought that was a coincidence.  And you know what? A few minutes ago...I knew it was fate!"  She laughed.

My mom had no idea I was here!

"Candace!" I shouted.  "Stop this! Mom--please! Help me!"  Struggling against the tape, my voice was lost amongst the country music playing over the speakers and the voices of clients and workers.

Candace gently grapsed my mom's left foot and placed it in her lap over a tub of steaming water.  Then, as if in slow-motion, Candace brought the file--with me!--towards my mom's light brown sole.  My god!  She was going to file me against my mom's foot!

I fought the tape but was helpless.  My mom's sole loomed over me, and I received an erection at the sight of a woman's hot, giantess foot so close to my naked body.  Without warning, Candace placed the file against my mom's sole and buried me in the skin. 

My mom's foot was hot--and surprisingly soft.  With my nose and mouth muffled against her foot, I was unable to breath.  Suddenly, Candace worked the file up-and-down in a quick sanding motion, scrapping dead skin off my mom's foot.  As my helpless body was pressed against the sole--now not so soft!--my back was racked with pain on the file's harsh surface.

I screamed in agony as I was mercilessly pushed against my mom's foot with pressure that threatened to crack my very ribs.  No one--not even my mom--could hear me.  As Candace worked faster, dead skin began to flake onto the file, and as she worked my mom's heel, ball, and middle sole, bits of skin began to coat my body and fill my mouth as I screamed for help. 

Trying to spit the chalky substance out of my mouth was useless.  It began to coat my tongue and gums, and I inhaled as much as I swallowed.  Candace was torturing me for breaking up with her--by sanding my mom's foot with my body.  And my mom had no idea her own son was underneath her sole, begging for help!

Candace was thorough.  She worked all areas of my mom's sole, and I took breaths as much as possible when the file left the skin.  Both she and my mom chatted about school, but I couldn't focus on what they were saying.  I could barely open my eyes for the flakey skin covering my face, and my body felt burned and scarred from the abuse.

At last, Candace stopped and placed my mom's foot in the warm water.  Before I could thank her for this respite, she brought my mom's other foot to her lap--and began again!

"No! God, no! Candace! I--ummpphhhh!" Too late.  Candace smacked me against my mom's right sole and furiously sanded this foot as well, searing my body with pain and filling my belly with dead skin.

After a seeming eternity, Candace placed my mom's right foot into the water as well and stood up, heading into the back room.  Placing the file on a table, she unstrapped me and dumped my body, now covered in chalky dust, onto the table.  I breathed heavily, coughing, my own skin feeling burnt and cut.

"Candace..." I murmured, unable to speak loudly after the ordeal. 

I turned to watch her looming over me, an evil smile on her face.  "You did good, honey," she whispered.  Candace then snatched me and taped me to her hot palm with another strip of clear tape.

Before long, I was back before my giantess, unaware mom, with her left foot in Candace's lap.  Candace reached over and filled her palm with a fruity lotion, covering me in the cold, thick substance.  I closed my eyes and tried to avoid swallowing any of the potential poison. 

Suddenly, I was smacked against my mom's sole as Candace worked the lotion over all areas of the hot foot with her palm.  Over my mom's soft heel I was pressed deeply--and the ball of her foot; between her toes; over the top of her foot.  My erect penis, now pushed into the skin, was covered in lotion.  Choking on the bitter lotion, spitting it out as best I could, I found myself excited by the soft skin.  When Candace placed me against my mom's other foot, I couldn't help myself and ejaculated on the skin, my cum smeared into the lotion over my mom's heel, she still unaware of what was happening.

Finally, Candace excused herself one last time and went to the back room.  After dumping my lotion-covered body on the table, she dropped a large, blue object next to my exhausted form.

"N-no! Candace, no! Not this! I'm sorry! We can keep dating!" She merely smiled.  Next to me was the complimentary gel sole, one side a wavy blue--to be pressed against a person's shoe sole--the other side a light brown, to face the person's foot sole. 

Cadace gently took my body and inserted it, back first, into one of the many ridges onn the sole's blue side, and used tape to keep me in place.  Now, no one would noticed my tiny form hidden inside the ridges of the sole.

Candace then spoke.  "You're going inside your mom's smelly high heels.  I could smell them from my seat even! You'll be pressed face-first against their stinky, wet surface.  Buried between the heel soles and this gel sole, you're mommy will never know that she's crushing you when she inserts her foot and walks."

"Not this! I'm begging you!" I shouted.  My heart pounded rapidly.  In answer, Candace began walking towards the front room again.  "I guess this means we can see other people," she giggled.

Back inside the front room, I didn't have time to shout for help before Candace graciously placed the sole inside the high heel for my mom.  My face and chest were pressed against the moist heel surface, the thick odor of foot indeed filling the shoe.  After settling me into place, I was immersed in complete darkness, most sounds muffled and seemingly far away.  The cool gel sole felt good on my abused back.

Suddenly, the weight.

As if a mountain had been dumped onto an unsuspecting victim, my body screamed in agony as my unwaware mom inserted her left foot into the high heel and stood on top of me.  Bits of moisture squirted against the gel sole, and my breath was a thing of the past. 

Now, only darkness.  I breathe when my mom raises her foot--the oxygen thick with foot sweat and rubber fumes.  Each step breaks one more bone, each moment that passes provides less and less oxygen.

"Mommy..." I mumble, as she walks down the quiet street. 

Fred struggled against his mom's thumb and forefinger, but she was simply too strong.  Jennifer was a giantess now, at least compared to her shrunken teenage son.  As she sat on the edge of her bed, she kept a firm grip on her new toy, careful to not squeeze too hard.

"I can't believe that mail-order stuff worked!" she remarked, giggling as she tossed back her long blonde hair. 

"Mom, please!" Fred begged.  "Fix me! You can't do this to me!"

Jennifer smiled.  "I'd say that your tiny, naked body suggests otherwise, honey," she responded, leaning towards the carpet now.  "You shouldn't have broken curfew last night, Fred.  Now mommy has to...punish you."  She giggled again.

"But mom!" Fred shouted.  "Tonight is my senior prom! Laura is waiting for me!"

Jennifer could already feel a tiny prick inside her finger; Fred, in his excitement and frustration, must have gotten a little hard-on.  "I've already called Laura, while you blacked out and shrunk.  She knows you're sick...just not shrunk." 

"Mom! No! You can't do this to me!" He struggled again to no avail.

Jennifer squeezed a bit harder, eliciting a groan from Fred.  "And, to make matters worse...or better, depending on who's the giantess...I called and made last minute arrangements to be a chapharone tonight.  You're still going to the prom, honey.  But, you'll be spending it under my left foot and inside my favorite black boot."

Fred's eyes widened.  "N-no! Not that! You can't! You'll crush me!"

"I'll be gentle, honey," Jennifer said with a smile.  Before Fred could react, his mom leaned over a gaping black boot and placed her hand inside, covering her son in darkness.  Once she was close enough to the sole, she released her captive, and watched as he rolled down the slight decline and into the dark recesses of the boot's toe.

Jennifer could barely hear the slight cries of her son begging for mercy.  Sitting up, she outstretched her left foot, red toenail polish glistening on her lightly-tanned skin.   Arching her foot, she noticed how soft her sole looked, marred by only a few wrinkles and some light veins.  "Still sexy," she thought to herself.

Then, dipping her toes downward, she inserted her foot as she stood up, pushing her sole forward until she felt the new, squishy bump under her foot.  Using her toes to place Fred under her sole, she put her entire weight on him and felt the little boy stiffen, now frozen in place under her massize weight. 

Jennifer rocked her foot back and forth, getting a feel for her son, and then slipped on her other boot.  Already, in her fairly stuffy bedroom, she could feel her feet getting warm.  The leather boots weren't exactly appropriate footwear for a night like this; the temperature was unusually humid, and she knew her sole would be covered in sweat long before the prom ended.  So would Fred, she told herself.  After all, the prom was being held at a very nice local park; no air conditioner in sight.

Jennifer had already planned to take two breaks during the prom to sit down and arch her foot, giving her little captive some much needed air.  But, she wouldn't release him until they got home.  He needed to spend the night smelling her odor and swallowing her salty sweat, crushed into placed while his friends and girlfriend danced around him, unaware of his predicament.

He needed to be punished, feeling the massive weight of his giantess mother centering on his helpless form with each feminine step.  She owned him now, and she wasn't going to go easy on him. 

Jennifer began walking to the front door, and with each step, she could feel, perhaps, a tiny sob from her son; something was also wet, though she wasn't sure if it was ejaculate or tears.  Soon enough, of course, it would be her foot's sweat.

"Ready...set...GO!" shouted the female announcer.

The studio's all-female crowd went wild as each of the three women on stage quickly inserted one foot into specially-designed high heels in front of them.  Each black heel was attached to the floor, and now the women leaned foward, increasing the pressure of their body weight and centering it over their soles.

Thirty seconds ticked by, and still the crowd clapped and cheered.  However, one woman near the end seemed uncomfortable, a look of concern on her lightly complected face.  After a few more seconds, she quickly removed her foot, shaking her head.  Reaching down into the shoe, she carefully unstrapped her naked, half-inch teenage son from the heel's sole and took him backstage.

"Only two contestants left!" the announcer chimed.  Sighing now, the remaining women removed their feet and sat on stools next to the shoes.

The crowd simmered down, and the announcer, a long-legged, slender black lady walked up to Samantha with a microphone. 

"So, Samantha...how do you feel about your chances? You and Robin have just completed Round 1!"

Samantha, a shorter women with closely-cropped black hair, spoke into the microphone.  "I'm feeling good.  Tommy seems okay, and I know he's a strong boy.  We  agreed that the million dollar prize was worth it, even knowing how much he'd have to suffer.  I just hope he doesn't hate me after this!"

The announcer merely smiled, and then faced the crowd. 

"Okay, ladies...Round TWO!" The audience cheered again and two lovely assistants appeared from backstage and unstrapped the boys inside the heels.  Each mother then stood up, and watched as the assistants placed each boy on the warm stool now vacated by his mother, strapping them in with thin tape. 

"In this round, ladies," the announcer explained, "you'll have to pull your shorts and panties down, and literally sit on your son with your cheek.  The first women to stand up gives up her shot for the million dollar prize!"

The boy's struggled against the bonds placed across their chest and legs, blinking in the bright lights.  Whatever desire each might have had to play the game seemed to dissapate as the mothers turned their backs to the stools and lowered their shorts to their knees.

Then, carefully exposing one butt cheek, each mother plopped down on her stool.  Samantha sat with such force that the seat scooted back a few inches, and now she settled into place on her son, raising her feet off the floor as per the rules, and feeling him completely entombed within the the fat and skin of her left cheek.

Robin, too, now buried her son, immersed in untold amounts of weight as his mother trapped him underneath her.  Robin was taller than her competitor, with longer, blonde hair and nicely-tanned skin.

As the crowd clapped and screamed, the large clock ticked one minute.  Samantha squirmed a bit, feeling her son Tommy struggling for air.  Robin's son also tried, in vain, to move, and she knew the weight of her body was likely crushing him bit by bit.  How much longer could she hold out?

Both women now looked at each other, determined to move on to the final round.  As the clock ticked by the two minute mark, Samantha felt Tommy squirming less and less, and Robin too noticed that her son Ted was not moving as much. 

"How much longer will they make their children suffer?!" the announcer asked loudly.  "Come on, ladies...smash those boys! Squish them for another minute, IF you want the million dollars!"

Samantha began to perspire a bit as two and half minutes went by. Suddenly, shaking her head, she jumped to her feet and faced her son, still leaving her cheek exposed to the crowd.

Removing the tape, she picked up her son, who was breathing hard and was as red as her butt's skin.  "Tommy, I'm so sorry!" she shouted, crying, and ran backstage with him.

Thankfully, Robin then sat up, and freed Ted from his bondage.  He, too, was now breathing hard, sucking in the air and looking a little flatter than before.  Robin thought she heard the sounds of his ribs and joints painfully popping back into place amid the din.

"Congratulations, Robin!" the announcer shouted.  "Now, take Ted backstage and get ready...for the Million Dollar Shot!" Robin left the stage with Ted as the crowd went wild again, and she entered a small dressing room used by the contestants.

Ted's world slowly materialized around him as he regained his senses.  The earlier assualt on his frail form had left him dazed and sore, but now, as his surroundings became clearer, he realized he was in much more trouble than he had ever envisioned.

Robin's tiny son was now enclosed in a small glass case, perched on a table in front of a cheering female audience.  Airholes throughout the walls of the case provided wisps of hot studio oxygen, and a long, clear tube directly above Ted's head had been fed into the box.  With enough room to only stand or sit with his back agains the case, Ted felt like a hamster in a cage.

Peering through the clear box, he noticed the tube led up to another box on a higher platform.  Next to that platform, his mother was stationed on a treadmill, her feet now clad in what appeared to be thick cotton socks that extended up to her knees.  She also wore white tennis shoes and stood nervously on the device, occasionally looking down at her son with trepidation.  Ted shivered as he tried to understand this particular "game."

The announcer then sauntered next to Ted, and as the studio erupted into more cheers, she explained the event for all to hear.

"In this final million dollar challange," she boomed into her microphone, "Robin must generate enough sweat on her feet to completely fill the special one-quarter cup that is placed on the platform next to her."

Ted didn't like where this was going.

"As Robin runs, she will need to 'wring' the sweat into the cup from her socks.  After the quarter-cup has been deemed officially full, it will be feed into Ted's tube, and Robin's tiny son must drink every last drop of his mother's foot sweat."

Ted's blood ran cold.  "No! Please!" he shouted, banging on the walls of his prison.  The announcer either didn't hear him or care about his disagreement to the game.  "I didn't sign up for this! Please, mom, no!" But he could only look up at his giantess mom, who was now positioning her feet on the treadmill.

The announcer continued.  "Ted and his mom must complete this game in 10 minutes in order to receive the million dollar prize."

Ted slumped down on the floor of the glass.  A quarter-cup to him was comparable to almost a gallon! A gallon of his mom's foot-sweat! The very idea made him sick to his stomach.  No amount of money was worth this.  He would simply refuse, and his mom would have to be happy with whatever consolation prize the contest offered.

"One more thing, ladies," the announcer boomed as she held up a piece of paper.  "I have here, in my hand, a signed agreement from Robin to help her son with this game.   It reads:

'I, Robin, agree that my son may not wish to participate in this game.  I authorize the motivation punishment to force him to drink my foot-sweat.  If he does not drink all of my sweat, I authorize this contest to forcibly strap him down and insert the tube into his mouth after my attempt.  During this time, any member of the audience who wishes to do so may use this treadmilll to generate sweat on her own feet and force-feed it to Ted as punishment.  Hotel accomadations may be provided to those who must wait until tomorrow.'

Now, how's that for motherly love, audience?" the announcer asked.  The audience cheered louder than ever.

Ted stood in shock and horror.  Placing his hands on the cold glass, he peered at the audience of woman.  Teenagers, middle-aged woman, white, hispanic, Asian, black...slender, large, short, tall...all seemed eager and hopeful for him to fail.

He then peered up at his mother, who mouthed the words "I'm sorry," and watched as she tapped a button on the treadmill and began to run.

Nervously, Robin finished wringing the wet sock in her moist hands, getting the last few drops to fall into the quarter-cup container.  Her exposed feet, swollen and red from the quick run, shined in the hot studio lights as the sweat glistened on her skin.

As the announcer tapped a nearby button on Robin's platform, Ted watched the liquid drain from the cup and feed down the tube towards his clear prison.  The tube above his head was fitted with a tiny ball, much like a hamster's water tube, insuring that no sweat would fall out unless Ted began sucking on the device.  Finally, the sweat began filling in behind the ball, and Ted craned his head towards it.  Choosing between a finite amount of his mom's sweat was much more preferable to an infinite amount of audience foot-sweat, he decided.

Closing his eyes and wrapping his lips around the tube's opening, Ted heard the audience roar in approval, louder than ever.  Taking a deep breath through his nose--the pungent aroma of hot sweat already filling his tiny cage--Ted sealed his lips tighter to insure no sweat was wasted and began sucking.

Immediately, the hot, salty mixture filled his mouth, so quickly that he had to step back from the tube.  With a temperature comparable to bath water, Ted gagged as his mom's foot-sweat swirled in his mouth.  The salty liquid was mixed with a funky stench of vinegar.  Afraid to let it dribble on his chin, Ted fought against a desire to vomit the disgusting liquid on the cage's floor, and concentrated as his eyes filled with water. 

Heart pounding, Ted clenched his fists and began slowly swallowing the sweat.  Instantly, he felt the hot liquid pass down his throat and settle in his quivering stomach, causing it to churn in rejection.  Finishing the sweat, Ted leaned foward against the glass and focused on keeping it down.

After a moment, Ted took a deep breath, his mouth and nose reeking of the salty vinegar his mom had drained from her socks.  Ted even detected the rubbery aroma of her sneakers and the dry smell of sock.  Looking back up at her, he watched Robin stand nervously on her platform, manicured red toenails drumming the treadmill.  She looked concerned, but Ted didn't forget that she had chosen to proceed with the challange anyway.

"Five minutes, Ted!" the announcer warned, audience erupting in applause and cheers.

His heart leapt.  Five minutes! Looking at the tube, he couldn't tell that he had even dented the amount of sweat pilling up behind the ball.  He knew if he took his time with each gulp, he would never make the mark.  Ted realized his only salvation lay in actually drinking the sweat like water, forcing it down--chugging it like a hot, salty beer that had been left open for several weeks.

Bracing himself, Ted approached the tube and again locked his lips around it.  Taking one final breath, Ted began sucking his mother's sweat and immediately swallowed it.  Without stopping, Ted drank some more, keeping his lips sealed and not relenting.  The vinegar filled his mouth, his nose, his eyes, his brain.  Hot, sticky foot-drippings slid down his throat, filling his belly and slowly stretching it out with each disgusting gulp.  The roar of the crowd was lost as he became absorbed in the improbable task of being forced to drink the sweat from his own mother's foot...something she had wililngly done to him.

"Two minutes!" the announcer shouted.

Ted kept drinking.  He didn't know how much liquid was left, only that it kept coming, and that he must fill his gullet with every last drop.  He clenched his fists repeatedly, feeling his own body temperature rise as the warm sweat filled him.  Ted began to sweat now, and before long, his own body was covered in a sheen of moisture.

"One minute!"

Ted breathed through his nose, feeling the sting of foot-oder and letting his tongue savor the mixture formed under his mom's hot, sweaty sole.

"Thirty seconds!"

Heart pounding--when would this sweat end?--Ted swallowed, and swallowed, and swallowed...and gulped air.

He tried again.  Nothing but air.

"Game over!" the announcer chimed.  Taking a step back, Ted noticed the tube was...empty! He did it! He won...didn't he?

Looking at the announcer anxiously, he watched as she slowly raised the microphone to her lips, and said:

"Unfortunately, ladies and gentleman...based on Ted's performance," she murmured as the audience sat on the edge of their seats, "Robin will not be getting the milliion dollars...because the IRS will tax almost half of it! Ted did it! He drank all her sweat in time!"

The audience exploded, clapping and cheering so loud that Ted's cage shook in reverberation.  "Yes!!" he shouted, actually proud and excited to have drank his mom's sweat, pounding his fist in the air.  Looking up at her, he watched as tears flowed down her face, a smile stopping them from reaching her chin.

"Collect your son, Robin! You two made a great team!" the announcer told her, and Robin quickly descended down a ladder and opened Ted's cage, her warm fingers wrapping around her pot-bellied son as she raised him to her lips, gently placing a hot kiss on his naked belly.

Ted couldn't help but smile as he and Robin exited the stage together.

I always knew my girlfriend Samantha was kinda nerdy, but I had no idea she was sadistic. Not until I found myself in the large, empty image chamber on her university's campus where she worked as a graduate assistant in the new "applied sciences" department.

Standing in the echoing room, dark, metallic and easily large enough to hold several buses-- in fact, I had trouble seeing the ceiling in the gloom--I could barely make out Samantha's form in the control room high above me, her white lab coat the only real indication that someone was watching.

"Cool, isn't it, Rob?" she asked over the intercom.

"Uh, yeah," I said, not sure why she had asked me to enter.  And what was the clicking sound on the other side of the door?

"It works a lot like the holodeck on Star Trek...or the Danger Room from X-Men," she said.  I rolled my eyes; what a geek! I was athletic, cool, and had only dated her because we hooked up at a lame party two weeks ago.

She continued.  "Lasers can construct physical objects, with real weight, texture, and thanks to our hidden gas tanks, specific smells.  We can literally create anything the subject wishes to experience!"

I imagined the goofy glasses bobbing on her face right now up in the control room. 

"Okay, that's neat," I said, heading for the door.  Approaching it I noticed...no handles? What the hell?

"Oh, that door only opens from the outside.  It helps to maintain the illusion if no objects are inside the chamber besides the subject and the lasers."

I shrugged.  "Well, open up then!" I shouted.

Silence.  What was she doing?

"Samantha?" I called out, looking to the control booth. The white lab coat swayed a bit before she answered.

"Do you love me?" she asked over the microphone, her high-pitched geek-voice already getting on my nerves.  Love? Was she crazy?

"Look, Samantha...honey...we can talk about this later," I said, heading for the door again.

"I don't think you do, Rob," she said.  "And that's okay.  I understand...I'm just not your type.  But...I hate it when guys break up with me...and eventually, they always do."

I wasn't sure where this was going.

"And so," she said, "I've decided to break-up with them first.  And this way, you can't get even with me by spreading nasty lies or anything."

I was completely clueless as to her point.  While the coming "break-up" was accurate enough, I likely wouldn't tell many people I had dated such a loser for such a length of time.

"And so, Rob...without further ado...I'm going to end our relationship now."

I shook my head.  "Can you at least open the door then? I'm uh...so devastated...I need to, uh, go home or something."  A lie, naturally.

"That won't do, Rob.  I want you to suffer the way I have suffered all these years.  I know I'm a geek...but one thing geeks are good at is computer programming, even hacking. And so, I've devised a new progam for the image chamber, specifically for you.  Once I activiate it, it will run non-stop for one full week.  Considering all applied science faculty are on their annual retreat and won't return for another six days, I'd say that gives you plenty of time to play with my program."

I raced back to the door, searching for a damn handle or saftey override...even I had seen an episode of Star Trek before.

"Samantha...whatever you're about to do, it's not neccessary," I shouted, pressing against the cold door.  "We can work this out!"

"Good-bye, Rob...I wish you well.  But, I doubt you'll ever leave this chamber in one piece."

"Wait!" I yelled to the booth.  "If something happens to me...they'll know it was you!"

"No, Rob," she answered.  "They won't detect my protocols.  And just so you know, I did a lot of research for this program...even sneaking into your mom's home one night while she was out, leaving a tiny video camera in place to record her exact dimensions.  I took samples of her foot-wear...the texture, the smell...well, you'll see the rest."

What the hell was she babbling about?

With that, Samantha's lab coat dissapeared from the control booth.

Resigned to a long week of silence and hunger, I sat on the cold floor.  Now what? Crazy bitch!

Suddenly, a low humming began filling the chamber.  At first, it was centered around the floor, but after a minute or two, it seemed to emanate from all sides of the circular chamber, a low buzz like a massize computer booting up.  The meager lighting suddenly went totally dark, leaving me in blackness as the air heated up around me and the humming increased in intensity and loudness.

I could feel the chamber vibrating, and I stood, unsure how to respond.  "Hey!" I called out.  No response.  What the hell was she going to do? Kill me with lasers or something? And what was that nonsense about my mother?

The humming grew louder, filling my ears and making me dizzy.  The room shook slightly, and as the air grew even warmer, I wondered if she had locked me in a large microwave or something.

Suddenly, all humming and vibrations stopped.  I stood in the darkness, heart pounding. 

And then...nothing.  I almost felt dissapointed. After all that build-up, it seemed Samantha's little program screwed up.

I sighed, relieved.

The bright light was unexpected.  Intense, retina-searing whiteness engulfed me and the chamber, causing me to trip backwards and fall down as I quickly covered my eyes.  A large thunderclap issued around the chamber, leaving me dumbstruck and scared out of my mind, heart racing and blood turning to ice. What had she done to me?!

Suddenly, a freakish feeling washed over my body.  I removed my hands from my eyes and found myself in a grove...of carpet fibers?!

"What...the...fuck..." I murmured.  Pressed tightly against my body as I stood up were thick bands of individual brown carpet fibers, each one reaching up to my chin and each as thick as another person, but much firmer.  Bunched together as they were, I found myself unable to move, trapped inside some sort of bizarre carpeted field.

Gazing up, I realized I wasn't outside...but instead, located in a very familiar place.  Miles above me, a textured ceiling; around me, light blue walls; and spread across this room, mountainous furniture.

My mother's...bedroom?!

Impossible! Or..was it?

Samantha had indeed done her research.  As best I could remember, this was indeed my mom's bedroom, down to the bunch of flowers she kept at her bedside table, so very large and so very far away now.

I had to remind myself that this was all an illusion, a laser light-show imitating the real thing.  I was shrunken, barely able to peer above the carpet, and naturally, this situation wasn't possible outside of the chamber.  Still, the dry odor of the carpet and the way each fiber pressed against me felt real enough.  Rubbing my hand against one strand, I could even feel the intricate weaving that comprised each fiber.  Lasers or not...this was going to be real enough for me.  Assuming that held true for everything around me, I would almost certainly die if that flower vase fell on top of me, or anything else heavy enough to smush a little bug like myself found its way to the floor.

So..now what? A week stuck inside a carpet? Some punishement, Samantha! Boring, yes, but pretty damn weird and not particularly dangerous.

I began pushing against the fibers in an attempt to walk. They were indeed resistant, and fighting my way through them required manually grasping each one with both hands and pushing it to the side so that I might squeeze past, only to face another equally annoying fiber.

Okay, this was punishment!

After ten minutes of walking in no particular direction, I was exhausted, my arms and legs burning with numerous scratches.  I had shorts and a t-shirt on, with sandals...not exactly hiking attire.

I sat down amongst the fibers, darkness surrounding me inside that fabricated jungle.

I pondered my situation.  I had ridden to campus with Samantha, leaving my phone in her car.  Stranded, with that damn chamber door locked and now impossible to find, I could only wait for help to arrive.

It was then that I felt the first tremor. It issued all around the hard ground, and I stood up, wondering if Samantha had programmed an earthquake to cause me more grief.  Another tremor, and another...and now, booms! Boom...boom...boom...each one almost knocking me off my feet.  I bear-hugged a fiber to keep standing, looking around in bewilderment.

Boom...BOom...BOOm...BOOM!

A shadow engulfed my tiny form, and ice ran through me again as I turned towards the bedroom door; my jaw dropped and my hands feel limply to my sides. 

Mom!

But not the mom I knew and visited every other weekend for Sunday dinner.  This mom was a giantess, a looming, towering woman whose vast dimensions boggled my mind.  Certainly, she looked like my mom: shoulder-length brown hair, youthful face and rosy skin, petite but firm body.  Even in her mid-forties, she retained a grace that kept her young. 

Currently, she wore a black top stitched with lots of pretty red roses, her bust clearly evident.  A short red skirt rode just above her knees, flowerly in design.  Around her wrist, the watch I had bought her for Mother's Day two years ago.

Her legs and feet were covered in the sheerest hose I had ever seen, barely visible agains her lightly-tanned skin.

What struck me the most was her expression...her eyes flitted about, clearly brown even from my distance.  Indeed, she looked quite real, her chest breathing in and out.  If not for my insane predicament, I would have marveled at Samantha's programming prowess.  Even the little dimples in her cheeks, the freckles around her nose...it was all there.

And it was coming towards me! I gripped the fiber again in fear as my giantess mom raised a foot and took a step into the bedroom.  The large leg and foot seemed to move in almost slow-motion, and as her sole came crashing down onto the carpet, a BOOM issued forth and knocked me down to the ground. 

I quickly stood, only to be knocked down again with her next foot-fall.  My mom took yet another step, crashing through the carpet carelessly and without regard, I noticed, to her tiny son stuck amongst the fibers!

Standing again, I peered up.  She was indeed coming my way, and two more steps would position her directly above my puny form.  Running was futile; and if her body was proportionally "heavy" like the damn fibers that surrounded me, one step would smash me to jelly.

BOOM! I held on to the fiber. My mother now loomed above me like a goddess descending to earth to trample the plains.  I could see up her skirt, her white thong quickly causing me to avert my eyes.  Had Samantha even peeked in my mom's bedroom drawers?!

My mom raised her left foot, and I watched as the hose-covered sole swung slowly above my head.  I was now cast in deeper shadow, and I watched as the red sole and thin fabric lowered unceremoniously towards me.  "Mom!" I shouted.  "Mom! It's Rob! Mommy!"

No use.  Her foot lowered towards me as a rush of air flattened me to the ground.  Laying on my back, staring up through a window in the fibers, I watched as my mom's sole darkned the light and finally left me in total darkness.  Heart pounding, I closed my eyes and braced for my mom's foot to fall on my helpless body. 

My mom's feet might have moved in slow-motion from afar, but now the fibers crumpled uder her massive weight in an instant.  I heard them rustle and crinkle as the massive foot feel towards me. Suddenly, a vast, suffocating force crashed onto my body.  I felt the carpet fibers press mercilessly against my body, and I turned my head to the side and prepared to be crushed.  A dominant, rubbery mountain settled onto every part of my body, cracking my bones and sending instant shocks of pain to every extremity.  I felt the harsh stocking slam onto my exposed skin amidst the fibers, and before I could calculate what death would feel like, the heavy mountain settled onto my body further, pouding me against the floor. 

For a moment, my mom's foot seemed to settle in place, sealing her helpless son in a tomb of stocking, flesh and fiber, buried alive and in agony. I heard the tendons in her foot flexing and thought I even heard blood pumping in her enormous viens. Each of my feet was twisted to the side, ankles cracking.  My ribs felt as if they would burst at any moment, a painful death indeed.

Thankfully, blackness took me first.

But only for an instant.  As the light of the room awakened me, I barely caught a glimpse of my giantess mom walking past me and on towards her dresser.  I inhaled, my breath having been forced from my lungs.  I tried to stand, but sudden pain seared my ankles, my ribs, even my backbone.  I was literally unable to sit up from the floor as the giant carpet fibers slowly stood back up, leaving me in the dark amid the BOOM BOOM of my mom's foot-falls.

Again, I tried to stand.  But the pain in my joints was real enough, and I realized that I was injured.  To what extent, I didn't know, but one thing was certain: If my mom turned back towards me and stepped on me a second time, I would certainly die.  As things stood, I surmised I had survived because I was placed in the middle of her sole where the pressure would be least.  Would my luck hold that she would walk back exactly the same way?

My exposed skin burned from the fiber and perhaps the hose on her foot.  I could even detect a hint of her fruity bodywash.  This program was certainly detailed!

Behind me, I heard my mom rifling through one of her drawers.  I wondered where she had come from...or was "supposed" to have come from.

Suddenly, I heard the crash of bed springs as my mom presumably sat on it.  That was followed the the "whisp" of her hose being slid off.  Was she changing? Gettting ready for bed...going out? I didn't even know what "time" of day it was.

Before I could guess further, a blackness once again engulfed my dim fiber-prison.  Her hose! A long streak of fabric landed directly on the fibers surrounding me, and I was alone in the dark again.  A pungent odor emanated from them, filling the tiny crevices around my body with a vinegar-like smell that gagged me.  Clearly, she had been at "work" all day.  Thanks, Samantha!

Desperate to get the stinky foot-wear away from me--or to crawl away myself--I tried standing again, and using the rough carpet fiber nearest me, slowly pulled myself up.  My ankles felt sprained or less, but by holding onto the fiber, I was able to reach up and touch the stocking.  It was hot to the touch, and I tried pushing it up to no avail.  It might as well have been a 500-pound Persian rug, for all my strength.

I started to pull my hand away, only to discover that my tiny hand was stuck in the miniscule fibers of the stocking! In desperation, I yanked again, pushing up with my other hand.  After a moment, it too became lodged in the loosely-woven stocking, which was acting like Velcro to a peon of my size. 

"Oh, shit!" I cried out. 

Both hands now caught, I leaned down, using my body weight.  I only succeeded in pulling the stocking down into my little crevice with me, its vinegar-odor coming with it.  "Impossible" I muttered.

The stocking was then yanked up, and I lost my wits as I found myself flying miles above the carpet jungle while attached to my mom's hose.  I griped the fibers tighter, pressing my face into their stentch while  I flew across the bedroom like an eagle as she carried the stocking towards the door and into the hallway. Swinging back-and-forth on this demented carnival ride, I watched from the corner of my eye as all around me a perfectly-mimicked house led me through a hallway and into the laundry room.  As my mom entered, she headed towards the enormous laundry basket placed atop the washing machine, filled to the brim with dishelveled dirty clothes. No sooner could I cry out for help than she let go of the stocking!

The stocking and I plummeted towards the basket, and as it crumpled into a heap I landed amidst it, finding myself buried by the used hose.  The weight of the hose surrounding me in darkness kept me from moving, though it was much lighter than my mom's foot and was not crushing me so much as trapping me. 

But then, the weight increased two-fold, as she must have dropped her other smelly stocking on top of the first! My faced was pressed deeper into the fibers, so loosely woven to a boy of my size that I could breathe a thin amount of air.  It was completely saturated by the odor of my mom's foot, presumably sweat that had accumulated during her long day at work.

With that, I heard muffled BOOMs as she left the room, and I was once again in darkness, alone, and stuck.  My hands were bound somewhere in the fibers, and I had trouble even shifting my tiny arms as the two stockings engulfed me.  Breathing hard, I tried to relax, even as the sting of vinegar made my eyes water. 

What next? Given the full nature of the laundry basket, I could assume it would soon be time to wash some clothes.  Hopefully, that wouldn't be her first order of business after a long day at work! That was assuming this "mom" would act like my real mom. 

That was when a disturbing though entered my head.  Was this program random, or had Samantha structured it so that I would be in this exact situation? Was I destined to be drowned in the soapy suds of my mom's washing machine, or was I left with some free choice?

Since the answer wasn't clear, I decided to act.  I wriggled violently inside the smelly stocking, trying to free my hands and create some manuevering space.  By constantly shifting around, I finally freed one hand, and used it to pry the other loose.  Then, like an avalanche victim trying to find saftey, I began crawling blindly through the fabric and, hopefully, towards a way out. 

After what seemed like an hour of struggle, I gave up and lay immersed in the heavy stockings.  Entagled in the smelly foot-wear of my giantess mom, I felt no progress had been made.  Certainly, no light from the outside of my fabric prison was making its way toward my shrunken form; and if anything, the smell was actually getting worse, suggesting I was either crawling towards the "foot" of the stockings, or inadvertantly inside them!

Defeated and frustrated, I simply relaxed and simmered in the heat generated by my body.  My breath was creating a damp atmosphere, and sweat was pooling around my body.  Indeed, I had shed many clothes during the crawl to make my "slithering" around easier, and now had left only my boxer shorts, which I began to pull off as well in an attempt to cool myself.  Now completely naked, I felt embarrased to be inside my mom's smelly hose--but reminded myself this was all a computer-generated fantasy, at best.

Suddenly, the all-too famaliar "booms" of my mom's foot-falls began issuing around me, shaking the laundry basket.  In the dim light, I couldn't tell what she was doing in the room, but could barely make out a giantess figure standing directly above me.  Before I could brace myself, the basket was lifted and placed violently on the floor, jarring my bones and sore joints.  If not for the clothes laying on me, I felt I would have bounced right out of the basket!

A series of painfully loud "clicks" sounded from high above me, followed by an equally painful "whoosh" of water as my mom began operating the washing machine! My heart leapt into my throat, and in desperation, I began crawling again, frantic to find an exit before my unaware mom dumped me with her dirty clothes into a swirling, soapy whirlpool!

No sooner had I began squeezing under yet another fold of fabric than the whole mess, myself included, was lifted from the basket.  As lumps of hose feel away, I quickly wrenched my fingers in the fabric as I found myself exposed and flying high above the basket, towards the washing machine!

Next to me, my giantess mother now wore a soft-looking white bath robe, presumably having finished her shower.  As she swung the dirty hose towards the machine, I began to pass by her, and noticed a large, open pocket on her robe near her hip.  Without thinking about the possible consequences of falling to the tiled floor from this amazing height, I released my grip and plummeted like a sky diver towards the pocket.

As the world around me rushed by, my blood froze and my stomach lurched.  Either luck or pre-programming was with me, as my legs nicked the lip of the pocket and I tumbled down to the bottom, becoming wedged upside-down and face-first against my mom's right hip.  High above me, the pocket afforded me a tiny view of the ceiling and the occasional glimpse of my mom's cute face as she continued her work.  Stuck on yet another roller-coaster ride, I swayed up and down as she reached in the basket and added more clothes to the water.  Finally, she finished her work and left the room, flipping the light switch and carrying her unknown passanger to an unkown desitination.

Righting myself, I tried to stand but found no footing.  I crumbled into a tiny ball, forced to endure the ride as my mother walked down her steps, each foot-fall reverberating inside my body.

I decided on a new tactic.

"Mom!" I shouted, hoping this holo-mom understood English.

"Mom! I'm inside your pocket! It's me, Rob!"

She continued walking.  Even to me, my voice sounded puny and ineffectual.

What would she do now? Her bedroom was upstairs, suggesting she wasn't ready for sleep yet.

Suddenly, I found myself floating upwards as my mom sat down.  I grasped the curls of dry fabric and crashed hard into her hip as she finished the movement.  Perhaps feeling the little "bump," she wiggled her hips, jostling me around.  She then settled into place and turned on the television, a noise so loud that I instantly covered my ears and grimaced.

Flipping through various channels, my mom was still unaware her tiny, shrunken son--now naked--was inside her robe pocket.  Looking up, I saw her brown hair and right ear.  Occasionally, she would tuck some hair behind her ear absentmindedly.

Pulling on the tufts of fabric around me, I was able to pry loose some frizzy, fluffy cotton and place it inside both ears, slightly muting the television.  I tried to find a comfortable position in the tapered pocket, and eventually settled down deep inside the wedge, prepared to wait.

After a few minutes, my mom settled on a movie channel, and began watching what was obviously a "chick-flick," a romantic love-story whose cliched nonsense reached even my protected ears.  Groaning, I could only hear the story and imagine the scenes.

Time passed.  Every now and then, my mom would shift herself, and each movement filled me with hope that she might put her hand inside the pocket and discover me.  Alas, no luck.

After a while, I noticed a change in her demeanor.  Her body began to heave, and before I could guess why this was so, I heard her sob.  Large booms of crying began to rattle my body, and I could tell from the movie's music that it was a "sad" scene.  Crying more intensely now, I heard a large horn-like blow as she blew her nose into a tissue.  I closed my eyes and put my hands around my ears again to soften the noise, more annoyed than ever at the way movies sucked her into their drama.

With my eyes closed, I didn't at first notice what was coming my way.  I felt an unexpected softeness fall to me inside the pocket, and when I opened my eyes, I was entombed in some sort of weird fabric...a tissue! A used tissue!

Deep inside the tissue, I could see a darker spot where she had blown her nose. 

No! I thought to myself.  Not this!

Another tissue was placed inside, pushing the first further down and bringing me closer to the mucus ball inside! I could even feel a slight amount of heat emanating from the snot. 

I tried curling up into a tighter ball, but this only allowed the first tissue to close around me to a greated degree.  As the minutes ticked by, my mom continued to blow her nose, stuffing more used tissues in her temporary waste basket, and inadvertantly burying her son in the nastiness!

I suddenly yearned for the smelly stockings.  It was then that I noticed the wetness begin to ooze around me, and no further escape was possible.  Trapped like a rat in the maze's dead end, I could only wait as the bottom half of the compressed tissue absorbed more mucus and began to moisten my naked body.

Another tissue was stuffed into the pocket high above me, and now engulfed in me in darkness.  The mucus dribbled onto my right arm, and like a sneaky water nymph, began to find its way to my torso and legs.  The now-cold mucus smelled less than the stockings, but still contained its own pungent odor, like that of sickness.

As the moments went by, I could do nothing as the cold, slimy substance began coating my entire body, leaving only my head free as I pressed it desperately into my mom's hip, almost suffocating myself.  Before long, I was sitting in a pool of slimy fabric and tissue, the mucus having reached between my toes and around my testicles.  Only my chin remained free, and now, as I feared, more mucus began wetting the hair on my head.

"Mom! For goodness sake, please! Help! Stop crying!" I shouted.  No use.

The mucus now dribbled down my forehead and onto my face, and I began gagging as I tried to keep my lips shut. 

My mom had stopped crying.  The movie's music, so very far away now, was in a happier, up-beat tempo, and she had stopped stuffing tissues into her pocket.

Unfortunately for me, that was irrelevant now.  My body--even my face--was coated in a layer of cold, smelly mucus. I had gagged, but been uable to throw anything up.  Keeping my lips firmly shut had kept out most of the nasty liquid, though some had inexplicably found its way inside my mouth and tasted of salty jelly.  By blowing air out through my nose, I had created a small airhole in the substance, and now sat still, absorbing my mom's snot.

What punishment! Samantha had really duped me and her plan was proceeding quite well, I granted her.  What else could be worse than to shrink down and have my naked body coated in my mother's snot while she watched a chick flick?

My mom eventually finished the movie and stood.  I began swaying in the robe, angry and despondent.  I felt her walk back up the stairs, and turn away from the direction of her bedroom.  Before long, she stopped walking, and the tissues and I were scooped up in tight, massive ball of mucus and dumped from an unimaginable hieght.  I yelled out and felt myself fall for what felt like an eternity before I landed amidst more tissues.

There was more light in my new environment, and I heard my mom turn on a faucet and begin brushing her teeth.  The bathroom!

Figuring I was in the tiny wastebasket next to the toilet, I began furiously scractching and clawing through the weakened tissues, caring not for the mucus, considering my situation.  As I tore open more thin lumps of tissue, more daylight shone forth, and before long, like a man escaping from a coffin six feet under the dirt, I tore my way to freedom amid the trash heap and emerged on top!

Blinking in the harsh whiteness of the room, I craned my neck upwards and fell back, amazed at the staggering tallness of my mother! No rock climber had ever seen so daunting a mountain.  The giantess lowered her face to the sink and spit out the toothpaste.  While the basket was likely two feet from her, that was essentially a mile to me, or more.

Shouting was pointless.  But not dancing! Trying to find my footing amid the tissues--and realizing that I was near the top of the waste basket--I began waving my arms and jumping, hoping she would see me.

My mom finished brushing her teeth and reached inside the cabinet, removing a container and ripping off some dental floss.  I watched as she meticuslously cleaned her teeth.  

Feeling tired, I continued my routine.  I watched as my mom finished her flossing, and bent towards me and the basket!

"Yes! Yes!" I shouted.  "I'm here! See me now?! Mom!"

Looking right at me--or so I thought--my mom reached a hand towards me.  Finally, freedom! Salvation!

She dumped the floss directly on my body, surprising me.  I fell to my back as the white rope lay entagled on top of me.  Trying to stand, I feel again and rolled to the side, winding myself in the slick floss.  As I got up once more, the floss piched my legs in a bind and sent me down again.

No! I couldn't believe it! As I fought further, the floss clung to my body and eventually wrapped around my arms and legs.  I tried rolling in the opposite direction, and managed to wrap myself in such tight bondage that I was fit to be roasted above a fire!

Looking upwards, helpless, I watched my mom sit on the toilet.  I heard the sound of her urinating; she had obviously not noticed me amid the trash in the waste basket.  I watched her head as she bobbed to one side, likely wiping herself.

I struggled against the floss, and felt it dig into my arms and legs.  Looking up again, I watched as, in slow-motion, she stood and flushed the toilet.  She then bent down, and I heard her rip off a piece of toilet paper.  Looking towards the basket, she leaned down and gently dropped the square of paper directly onto my squirming form!

It was then that I first heard her speak.  Her voice was loud--booming, even--and so deep that I had trouble recognizing her, though deep inside the bass, I did detect her familiar sound.

"I'm too tired to empty this basket tonight," she told herself.  "Maybe I can make some space."

Through the thin film of the toilet paper, I thought I saw her raise her foot high above the trash.  But no...why would she do that?

Then, the weight.

The impossible crush. 

The toilet paper slid down my face and covered the rest of my body, allowing me to see the torture first hand.

My mom's big toe was placed squarely on my chest, and the curve of her toe hid her face from me.  Presumably arching her foot, I watched the color drain from her skin as she ground the trash--and therefore, me--deeper into the basket! Every inch of my body from the neck down was only a toilet-paper's thickness away from her skin and compacted underneath her.  The heat of her skin practically broiled me, and the crackle of trash underneath me cotinued as she arched her foot further, smashing me--arms and legs still bound to my sides--inside the used tissues!

"Arrggghh!" I cried out.  "M-mom! Aarrggh!!"

I felt my ribs pop and my muscles protest as the pain seared my mind.

"P-please! I can't...ARRGGHHH!!!"

How long would she continue the assualt?!  Even through the pain, I could smell the fruity bodywash on her toe.

I begged silently for my mom to end the torture.  For her, what might have been seconds was several agonizing minutes for me.  She was crushing her own son with her big toe...insider her own trash can!

"MOMMY!" I shouted.

Deeper into the waste basket I went, ground mercilessly under my mom's toe and unable to do a thing about it.  I hated and loved her at the same time.  I despised the torture, but the idea of a woman dominating me--even my own mother--was so warped and perverse that it was almost...inviting!

That didn't stop the pain and agony of the giantess weight as it centered itself on my puny body.  Unable to breath and blacking out, I hoped she would never find me like this...the guilt alone would drive her mad!

But then, this wasn't my mom! This was a hologram! And holograms don't have emotions!

Finally, my mom relented.  She removed her toe, the toilet paper sticking to it.  She swiped it off with a quick brush of her hand and it floated carelessly to my body and covered me again.  I heard the BOOMS of her steps as she left the room and turned off the light, leaving me in darkness agian.  Barely able to breath--sharp pains issued all around my chest--and bound by the dental floss, I laid still in the trash, heart pounding.

Covered in mucus, bound in dental floss, and in serious pain, I rested silently in the dim bathroom's wastebasket.

I gave up.  Even if I managed to free myself from my unique bindings, at my size, more peril was sure to come my way.  Based on the myriad of tiny holes comprising the wastebasket's sides, I figured I could climb up and over it, perhaps down to the tiled bathroom floor...but to what avail? My mom could just as easily use the restroom in the middle of the night and crush me like a bug, none the wiser that she had done so to her son.

What was my other option? Wait until she emptied this basket into a larger trashcan...find myself trapped in a trashbag and placed on the curb, only to be dumped into even larger trash?  Would Samantha's program run that far? Could I literally experience the entire world until my six days of punishment had ended?

I had no answers to my questions.  Only sore joints and muscles, my body abused from my mom's sole and toe.  My holographic mom.  I wondered what my real mom would think once she discovered I was missing. What if I didn't survive Samantha's little torture experiment...would anyone ever find my remains inside the university's chamber?

And so, I waited.  Tired, depressed, and frustrated, deep sleep eventually overtook my tiny body as I lay compacted in my mom's wastebasket.

***

The sound of the bathroom shower awoke me.  My mom had tossed more toilet paper into the wastebasket, but through the thin sheets I could make out her giantess figure moving around the room and stepping into the shower.  As time passed, humid air filled the room, and I heard my mom finish her routine as she brushed her teeth, presumably applied make-up, and eventually leave the bathroom.  Moments later, far away, I thought I heard the sound of the garage door opening and closing as she left for work.  Again, I was amazed at the intricacy of Samantha's program!

Hours--how many?--passed.  I dozed off, only to be awoken by the wastebasket's shaking. Mom!

The various layers of toilet paper were removed from my body, and the blinding light of the room forced my eyes shut.  I felt my tiny body picked up and held tightly between my mom's hot finger and thumb.  Finally! Rescue!

As my eyes adjusted to the light, my mom's face slowly materialized...and I noticed she was wearing glasses.  Strange, I didn't think she wore glasses.

My eyes focused further, and with a start I realized I was staring Samantha in the face!

"Confused, Rob?" Samantha's booming voice asked as her warm breath washed over my naked body.

I couldn't respond.  What the hell was happening? Samantha had programmed herself into the illusion?

Roughly, she began unwrapping the dental floss from my body, turning and twisting me until I was finally dumped into her open palm.  Rope burns across my torso and limbs were evident as I collapsed onto her hot skin. 

"I guess your mom didn't care for you either...funny that I found you in the trash!" Samantha giggled, her loud voice shaking my body.  "What, no words? All this too much for you?" Samantha began walking, keeping her palm level as I bounced around on her skin.

We left the bathroom and passed through the hallway, finally entering my mom's bedroom.  Having no desire to converse with a holographic entity, I simply watched as Samantha approached the closet and slid it open, revealing racks of my mom's clothing and numerous pairs of shoes on the floor.  What was she doing?

"Let's see...which ones..." Samantha wondered aloud, bending over and inspecting the various footwear. 

Silently, like a scientist uncovering some new fossil, Samantha peered around and finally snatched a pair of black high-heels.  "These!" she shouted, blasting my ears.

Without warning, she tipped her palm towards the left heel and dumped me onto its sole.  Unable to grasp the slick gray fabric, I rolled down the heel's slope and found myself bouncing inside the high-heel's toe.  In the semi-darkness, I saw Samantha's face looming over the shoe, a wry smile evident.

"Based on the toe print under your little body, your mommy wears these heels quite often.  In fact, I bet there's a good chance she'll wear these to work one day this week...it's only Tuesday, after all."  Samantha giggled again.

Was she crazy? As I crawled toward the slope of the sole, the pungent odor of the shoe hit me like a bus, and I immediately realized she was right! These shoes smelled awful, clearly worn by my mom regularly.  And at my tiny size, the chances of my mom finding me before she inserted her foot were slim indeed!

Angry, I let out a yell.  "I'm sick of this hologram! I'm sick of my mom's feet! And I am sick of you, Samantha! Tell that to the real one next time you see her!" Shaking my fist, I then pounded it on the soft fabric beneath my naked body.

Still smiling, Samantha responded! "But Rob...I AM the real Samantha!"

I shook my head, not understanding. 

She continued, her looming face covering me in darkness.  "I didn't leave you in a hologram...I shrank you! In real life!"

What?!

"Silly Rob.  There's no such thing as a 'holodeck' or whatnot...that's way ahead of our time! If you paid attention in your classes, maybe you would have figured that out! What does exist is shrinking technology...as you have experienced first-hand!  After shrinking, people tend to black out for several hours, giving me plenty of time to dump you on your mom's carpet."

I shook my head.  "That's...impossible!"

Samantha responded.  "I told you I researched her...I know her schedule, and her security code.  It's easy for me to slip in here while she's at work.  This whole time...you've been escaping your real mother!" She laughed again, shaking the shoe with her hand.

"But, how did you find me?" I asked, heart pounding. 

"With this," she answered, producing a slim device that looked like a cell phone.  "Any shrunken object...or person...emits a small amount of radiation for the next few days. I just tracked it to your trash-prison!"

This whole time...it was real?! I didn't want to believe her...yet, somehow, I knew she was being truthful!

"I've learned my lesson! Please, let me out!" I begged her.  The aroma of my mom's foot odor was overwhelming me.

"Of course, Rob...but first, you have to play some games with me."

Crazy bitch! Again with the games!

"Anything, Samantha! Please, just fix me!"

Smiling, Samantha leaned close to the shoe.  "Wow! That does stink.  Rob...lick your mommy's shoe."

I didn't understand.  Lick? Lick?!

"Lick!" she shouted.  Blood racing, I knelt down, swallowed, and placed my dry tongue on the soft, slick fabric of the high-heel's sole.  Feeling Samantha's eyes on my shrunken body, I began licking the smelly fabric, up-and-down, like a little boy trying to eat an ice-cream cone.  I could taste the funky odor of my mom's foot in my mouth.

I kept licking, until Samantha finally told me to stop.  Staring back up at her, my eyes watery from the vinegar-like odor of the shoe, I waited for her to rescue me.

Not yet.

"Now Rob, pretend you're a pig looking for truffles.  I want your nose pressed against that shoe's sole, and I want you to sniff every last thread in it's toe."

"Samantha, please..."

"NOW, pig!" she ordered.

Kneeling back down, humiliated, I pressed my shaking nose to the cool gray threads and began smelling them, inhaling the stench and crawling around the toe section, making sure I didn't miss any spots.  Slowly, my nose sucked up more of my mom's foot odor, Samantha watching and smiling the whole time.

"Good," she said.  "Now, come back out."

I crawled to the high-heel's slope.

"Rob, I want to hear how wonderful that shoe is.  Convince me you love its smell, and we'll go home."  Pressing her ear close to me, I began yelling whatever nonsense I though would make Samantha happy.

"I love my mom's high-heel!" I shouted.  "I love the odor! It's my pleasure to smell it and lick it!" Disgusted by what I was saying, I nevertheless was getting...hard? Shocked, I continued my "speech."  "I only wish I could spend an entire week inside this shoe, trapped underneath my mom's equally-smelly foot, her hot skin cooking me while she goes about her job!"

Harder still?! Turning to look at me, Samantha smiled as she, too, noticed I was getting aroused.  "Rob!" she giggled.  "I think you do like this!"

Confused and sickened, I knelt down and hid my penis with my hands, ashamed. 

"Rob...ejaculate on your mom's shoe."

My blood turned to ice. 

"W-what?" I murmured.  "No way!"

"Rob...either you come on this shoe right now, or I leave and your wishes come true..." She began to stand, and I shook my hands quickly.

"Okay! Okay!" I relented.  How the hell was I going to do this?

Still hard, I looked down on the soft sole, and taking a deep breath, laid down, pressing my penis onto the slick threads.  Feeling the giantess' eyes on me, I began humping the shoe, demoralized, humiliated, and...still hard!

Working my body up-and-down, feelig my penis getting scratched by the sole's fibers, enveloped by the shoe's aroma, I imagined my mom sliding her foot into this shoe and burying me underneath her hot sole for an entire day...forced to inhale her foot's odor...powerless to resist her...truly one with her...

As if to emphasize that point, Samantha placed a hot and heavy finger on my back, grinding me into the sole.  "Pretend this is your mommy's foot, Rob...trapping you for a very long and very smelly day..."

Pressing on my back harder, Samantha's warm flesh, combined with the shoe's odor and the image of my mom's foot, was too much! I burst forth on the shoe, humping it and coming again and again, licking the sole and begging silently for my mom to insert her foot right that moment and seal me in a tomb of foot and heat! Wetting the sole over and over, I clenched my fists and cried out inadvertantly! "Mommy! Please! I want to kiss your feet!"

Samantha removed her finger, and I slowed my "humping," until finally, I took a deep breath and got to my knees, ejaculate covering myself and a tiny spot on the high-heel's sole.  I looked up at Samantha, only to see her laughing!

"Ha ha ha! I've reduced you to a pathetic little boy indeed! One day, you're thinking of dumping me...and the next, you're begging to be a little foot-toy for your mommy! Happy, Rob?"

She was right! I felt disgusted.  I had gotten caught up in this insane situation, and indeed, I was shocked at how I felt.  Samantha had truly gotten the better of me, torturing me physically AND mentally! Revenge indeed.

Exhausted, I crawled up the slope a tiny bit.  Samantha reached out her hand...and pushed the shoe back into the closet!  I rolled back into the toe as she placed the other high-heel next to mine.

"Wait...no! NO! Samantha, please, don't leave me here!" I cried out.

Standing, her face seemingly miles away, she smiled.  "I think you're exactly where you want to be, Rob.  And after your mommy finds out how 'hard' you get when you are near her feet...Well, if my research into her has taught me anything, I doubt she'll be looking for a way to reverse your predicament anytime soon.  You two might find a new way of...communicating...Come once when you need air, come twice when you need water! Ha ha ha!"

With that, she slid the closet door shut, leaving me in darkness, in a woman's smelly high-heel, and at the mercy of my giantess mother.

The End

Mark's heaving, tiny body rested on the cool surface of the coffee table, engulfed in
the shadow of his giantess mother. Marissa watched with some concern as her son
struggled to catch his breath. His skin, red and swollen--much like her own warm, stinky foot--was covered in a slight glistening of sweat. With a smile, Marissa knew the moisture was as likely to have come from her own hot skin as her son's.

After a few moments, Marissa leaned over closer, already smelling the vinegar-odor of
her foot that had been absorbed onto her helpless captive's body.

"Well, Mark…what have you learned tonight?"

Blinking, Mark barely muttered an answer, perhaps afraid of saying nothing. "I've learned it was wrong to be with Megan while you were gone. That it was wrong to
be with her at all. I'm...sorry, mom."

Smiling, Marissa delicately picked up her shrunken son and gently placed him in the soft
skin of her warm palm. Mark remained curled in a fetal position. Marissa hoped she hadn't permanently scarred her son psychologically, but still felt confident that this option had been the best one.

"That's enough for tonight, honey," she cooed as Mark's face started to lighten.  "I think I got my point across."

"So...so we're done? Really done?" Mark asked sheepishly.

"Of course, dear. Let's go to my room so we can fix you."

******************************

Engulfed in his mother's hot, stinky skin, Mark shifted ever so subtly as Marissa arched
her left foot to let the tiniest amount of air to filter into her son's oxygen-deprived prison.

There hadn't been a fix. Marissa had learned that night--much to her chagrin--that
her friend had only provided half of the "medicine"...the other half, assuming it even existed, might have restored Mark but was nowhere to be found. Phone calls to her friend  in Japan went unanswered, and Marissa had begun to wonder if she would ever be able to find her friend again and get the antidote.

Sitting in her office chair, her smelly foot getting warmer by the minute inside the
damp high-heel, Marissa pondered her options. Keeping Mark "underfoot" was easy enough; her body weight was surely painful for her son, but the bigger concern was keeping a steady supply of air to his meager lungs so that her swollen skin wouldn't suffocate him. She wasn’t confident leaving him at home, and simply stashing him in her purse or drawer increased the chances of someone finding him, perhaps getting her into legal trouble she could ill afford.

And so, Mark remained inside the makeshift oven, much as he had for the past three
days since that fateful night when she had decided to teach him a lesson. Signing the documents to release him from school was easy enough, and now she was teaching him a longer lesson that neither she nor Mark would have ever wanted.

A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts. Marissa turned to the door and watched as Megan, Mark's one-time girlfriend and lover, walked uncomfortably into the tiny office.

"Hi Marissa," Megan spoke quietly. "Sorry to bother you again. I know I've called you a lot these past few days, but I'm really worried about Mark. The secretary told me it was okay to come up here and speak to you."

Marissa smiled, inwardly laughing at the irony. Mark is closer than you think, Megan!

Leaning back in her chair, Marissa pretended to be just as despondent. "Sorry, Megan. I haven't heard anything new. The last I saw of Mark, he was joining his aunt for a trip to a South American archeological dig site.  It might be a while before I hear from him
again…very few phones there, you know.”

The sadness was evident on Megan’s face.  Looking at her, Marissa couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of this girl; perfectly coifed blonde hair, an athletic body evident from years of cheerleading, and a face that would make any boy fall in love with her instantly.

Marissa disliked her more than ever.

“Oh, okay,” Megan replied.  “It’s just…I don’t understand why he would leave without telling me.  It’s not like him.”

Inside her shoe, Marissa felt Mark struggling to move, fruitlessly.  She knew he could hear his girlfriend’s voice, and by arching her foot even more, made sure he was attune to the entire conversation.  More punishment wouldn’t hurt.

"If I hear from my son, you’ll be the first to know, Megan.  But, I recommend forgetting about him and moving on.  You’ll find a new boy, what with your cute face and all.”

That seemed to make Megan even more uncomfortable.  “I…guess.  Maybe you’re right.”

Mark struggled to free himself from under Marissa’s massive sole, and for a moment,
she thought that Mark’s tiny voice had actually escaped his personal oven and
floated out into the air.  Taking a quick breath, Marissa relaxed her foot and sealed him deeper into her foot’s sole to avoid any further attempts at communication.

“Well, thanks for everything, Marissa,” Megan said.  With that, she turned and began leaving.

“Bye, Megan,” Marissa said with some pleasure.  Placing the full weight of her foot on her son and leaning very close to his high-heel prison, Marissa quietly reassured her son.

“Don’t worry, honey.  I can tell Megan’s little visit make you a little ‘happy’ down there…mommy can feel these things very easily now.  I have a lunch break coming up, and I promise you can relieve your frustration on my toe again.  And you know what? You get to pick which toe.”

With that, Marissa stood, crushing her helpless son under her stinky foot and strode
confidently into the hall, oblivious to Mark’s muffled cries for mercy.