A Little Blackmail: Forever Hers by Jacksmith
Summary:

A shrunken brother, having survived for years as his sister’s secret slave, finally commits to be his giant sibling’s property forever. Now the only thing standing in the way of their wildest fantasies is the limit of their imaginations.


Categories: Breasts, Teenager (13-19), Young Adult 20-29, Body Exploration, Butt, Entrapment, Feet, Footwear, Gentle, Growing/Shrinking Out of Clothes, Humiliation, Incest, Instant Size Change, Mouth Play, Odor, Slave Characters: None
Growth: None
Shrink: Minikin (3 in. to 1 in.)
Size Roles: F/m
Warnings: Following story may contain inappropriate material for certain audiences
Challenges: None
Series: A Little Blackmail
Chapters: 16 Completed: No Word count: 38574 Read: 299642 Published: July 02 2016 Updated: July 25 2017
Story Notes:

Well, I warned you I’d do it someday. So here it is: the alternate reality, non-canon timeline where you’ll see this twisted goddess-and-slave/sister-and-brother team of Carly and Jack engage in all their dirtiest dreams together.

The line-up isn’t exact, but this one essentially picks up somewhere in the final chapters of A Little Blackmail 3: Life of a Toy, just before Sophie arrives and throws a size-changing curveball on the situation. If you haven’t read the other stories in the series, you’ll probably find yourself a little lost on the narrative. More than anything, this story is for anyone who wished things had gone differently, and happily ever after, at the end of the main Blackmail trilogy.

There’s no sequel numbering attached to the title because, again, this isn’t part of the main series. Hopefully this turns into the sexiest example of the butterfly effect ever. Enjoy!

1. Chapter 1: What Might Have Been by Jacksmith

2. Chapter 2: Welcome to Your Life, Little Bro by Jacksmith

3. Chapter 3: Shoe-Tasting Party (Part 1) by Jacksmith

4. Chapter 4: Shoe-Tasting Party (Part 2) by Jacksmith

5. Chapter 5: Couples Hike by Jacksmith

6. Chapter 6: Cleanliness is Next to Carlyness by Jacksmith

7. Chapter 7: Never Again by Jacksmith

8. Chapter 8: Who Wears the Shoes by Jacksmith

9. Chapter 9: Heaven or Bathwater (Part 1) by Jacksmith

10. Chapter 10: Heaven or Bathwater (Part 2) by Jacksmith

11. Chapter 11: Bringing the Family Closer by Jacksmith

12. Chapter 12: Her Giant Little Toy (Part 1) by Jacksmith

13. Chapter 13: Dear Carly, Amen by Jacksmith

14. Chapter 14: Her Giant Little Toy (Part 2) by Jacksmith

15. Chapter 15: Honey, I Shrunk You by Jacksmith

16. Chapter 16: Her Giant Little Toy (Part 3) by Jacksmith

Chapter 1: What Might Have Been by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

Carly and Jack's new union dodges the bullet of their cousin Sophie, allowing them to live on in their newfound harmony.

            “That’s my little boy…” your titanic sister purrs seductively, kissing the back of your head with her moist, pillowy lips again as she cradles you in her palms.

            Her fingers explore every trembling corner of your nearly three-inch body. Her golden locks hang around you in an angelic cataract, those oceanic irises glued to you with utter reverence. After all, it’s not every day you promise your very soul to a girl like her. Those plump lips part again: “That’s my sweet, sweet little boy. I’m so proud of you, and I love you more than you can ever know.”

        “I love you too, Carly,” you whisper, respectfully kissing her soft fingertip in kind, as your gorgeously tanned monument of a sibling leans back in over you.

        “Let’s play a game, Jack…” your sister sighs. Her tongue slakes up your legs, drenching you back in her saliva and warming you to the bone as the gooey substance dribbles over you. At the instant of contact, though, something else happens entirely than the moist, sensual delight you can normally anticipate from Carly’s mouth.

            Realization hits you on a molecular level. Like a stroke ripping through your body.

            “W-Wait. Please…” you gasp as the nightmarish concept infects your brain, though you can’t help but shudder and restrain a moan as the enormous, muscular tongue pins your pathetically miniscule junk against your waist. She’s so strong, so sure, and she’s using all that potency to make you happy. It’s almost beyond imagining.

            You don’t want this moment to end, ever. But you also now understand with apocalyptic clarity that it will end, if you don’t speak up now.

            “What is it?” Carly murmurs dreamily, taking another slurp on your lower body and planting a soft peck against your skin. “Hmm?”

            “I’m… I’m so sorry…”

            “For what?” she giggles cutely. “For taking so long to figure out that you’re mine? I already forgave you for that, a long time ago. Even if it didn’t seem like it. I always did. I… always knew you could do it.”

            “N-No… that’s not it.”

            “Then what are you sorry for?”

            “For… for…” you whimper, the tears already bubbling up behind your lids. “Sophie f-found me t-too.”

            The cerulean orbs of your sister’s enormous eyes widen, her mouth pulling away with agonizing slowness from your legs. Your body tingles from deprivation, screaming in an animal frenzy at you for halting the progress of this most holy of unions taking place. The hair stands on end.

            “She what?”

            “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I was… t-too afraid of what you’d say or do, or… or…” you continue, the blubbering taking over your tone. “P-Please, don’t be… don’t be upset C-Carly, I…”

            “No. Shh, shh, shh…” the nineteen-year-old coos. She brings a tender index finger up to your face, silencing you instantly with a gentle press of her padded digit to your flapping mouth. “Hush now, little bro. Don’t talk. Just listen to me.”

            You nod frantically, planting a miniature kiss on the swirled tip of the girl’s finger. Your heartrate was pounding at Olympic speeds a moment before, and though there’s still no definitive plan in place, the fact that Carly’s billboard countenance hasn’t been darkened by an oncoming monsoon of rage at your little misstep is all it takes to sooth you back down to normal. Already your little cardiac pulses have reduced down to the steady blip you might experience during a deep afternoon nap.

            After all, you’re in Carly’s hands now. You’re drenched in her saliva from kiss after kiss, warmed by her continually wafting breath, and you’re absolutely aching to feel more covering your exposed body. And by the sultry whisper emanating from those perfect lips of hers, she seems unbothered by this tricky turn of events.

            Why should it worry you, then?

            “Now. She found you. Sophie found you. And I found you with Chloe. Did anyone else?”

            Quaking, you shake your head in the negative, and feel Carly’s fingers wrapping more snugly around your limbs for emotional support. You’re coiled quickly into the cushioned sandwich of her palms, right where you belong.

            “You’re positively sure?”

            “Mhm.”

            “Remember what I said? Just shake your head yes or no and let big sissy handle this, okay, Jackie-poo?” Carly mutters calmingly. She presses a thumb against her own lips in a silent shush, reminding you of this mandate. Instantly you reseal your vocal cords and cuddle closer into her cupped hands. Of course she’s right. There’s no need for you to speak right now.

            “I’m not worried about Chloe. But Sophie’s different. Did she hear very much?”

            You gulp down a lump you could’ve easily mistaken for your own fist. Wearily, you nod.

            “Does she know what we’ve done together? And for how long?”

            You nod again.

            “Does she think you want to run away from me?”

            The trembling is getting to the point that even Carly’s squeezing fingers can’t quite manage you, odd a realization as that is. You bow your head back down against your sister’s digits, watching your tears stream down the curvature of her thumbprint. At last, coughing dryly in your desiccant throat, you nod your head.

            “Hey. Hey, now,” Carly lullabies, rocking her palms from side to side. “It’s all right, little bro. I know she must’ve said some things to you to make you say what she wanted you to. I don’t blame you. Not at all. Understand? You can talk again.”

            “Y-Yes,” you sniffle, burrowing your face deeper into your giant sister’s shuffling fingers. Sorrow is ready to leak out of just about every orifice if you don’t find some relief soon.

            “Come out of there,” she entreats. Propping her thumb against your chest, she nudges you out of her closing fingers and forces you into a comfortable reclining position against her curved digits, allowing your tears to continue cascading down your reddening cheeks and down to your bare body. “Just look at me, little bro. This is very important. Is there anything I need to know that you told her?”

            “She knows h-how… how I g-got like this… the chemicals, and… and electricity, together. She knows that’s h-how it happened…” you sputter, perhaps more ashamed of this than anything you’ve ever been in your life, and considering the life you’ve had, especially in the past five years as a naked, mewling sexual experiment for your twisted baby sister, this is no small feat. The words feel corrosive as they leave your lips, leaving an acidic residue on the back of your throat. “C-Carly, p-please… please forgive m-me… I…”

            “I said that’s enough now, Jack. Stop it,” your sister orders in the most loving timbre possible. She cradles your chin in the crook of an upturned finger, forcing you to crane your neck back up toward those glowing blue moon-eyes of hers just above as they bore into your very soul with that special brand of selfish altruism Carly thrives on. “You’re mine. Nobody else’s. We both know that now, forever. And there’s no way I’m letting anything come in the way of that. Understand?”

            “Y-Yes.”

            “Do you trust me, little bro?” she sings sweetly, dipping her mouth back into her hands just above your sprawling nude body. That animated tongue of hers flickers out between the rosy barrier of her lips, slicking a fresh, lukewarm line of her lovely slime up your torso: a promise.

            Of ownership, and deliverance.

            “Of course,” you swear in a low croak, melted instantly back into her palm, any remaining muscle stiffness on the part of your perceived betrayal quickly forgotten.

            How could you have doubted her for even an instant?

 

            “I’m TELLING you, he’s IN here somewhere!” Sophie screamed as your uncle restrained her by the elbows. She dug her heels into the dorm floor, thrashing and spitting as the words shredded up her throat. A campus police officer leaned into the door jamb, jotting down notes on a sketchpad pulled from his pocket.

            On top of the dresser rested the spray bottle of hastily concocted classroom chemicals, along with the emergency purse-accessory taser that Sophie brought along to attack Carly for all the assumed crimes against humanity she’d heard related from the shrunken ghost of Jack Arton over the Christmas break.

            “Honey, please… just…” your Aunt Selina sighed as she sat on the bed in a useless attempt to restore peace. She kept an arm protectively wrapped around your mother, who appeared more than a little traumatized by this bizarre reminder of her son’s disappearance five years ago, judging by the trembling in her hands and swelling pink beneath her eyelids. “…just try to calm down and think through what you’re saying, this… this is-”

            “It’s not CRAZY!” Sophie screamed, her feet windmilling clumsily at her father’s shins in a desperate bid for escape. Tears plunked down her cheeks and to the floor below. “I saw him, I… t-talked to him. He’s still alive. Do you understand? He’s just… t-tiny! And she’s… she’s GOT him, she’s been TORTURING him all this fucking time!”

            “I think we’d better get moving,” your uncle murmured to Selina, wrapping strong arms around his daughter into a restrictive embrace as she continued to rave and foam in the direction of Carly in the corner, where your lanky, tanned cherubim of a sister has been poised with docile innocence and an even more angelic look of loving compassion than usual, her own deep blue eyes welled with empathetic saltwater.

            “We’re all… going home,” your mother Leah sighed blearily, hobbling up to her feet after the staggering shock of Sophie’s outburst and the subsequent rush to the campus in the hour’s aftermath. She crossed the room, folding into the waiting arms of her only remaining child for a consolation hug that rocked them both back and forth over the creaking floor.

            “We can have an officer come by and take her in. Not to be booked, just… until things calm down here,” the security coughed, tucking his pad back into his shirt pocket and crossing his arms as he eyes your unfortunately hysterical cousin.

            “That won’t be necessary, sir,” Selina insisted, trying to take hold of her daughter’s hands for comfort, but only finding them slapped away and punctuated by a rebellious humph from Sophie. “Please. We’ll take care of this. And I apologize that any of this was necessary to begin with.”

            “C’mon, honey,” Leah whispered lovingly in her own daughter’s ear as the pair made their way back toward the door. Nodding reassuringly, the towering blonde squeezed her mother into a tight hug, leaning her head against her considerably shorter parent’s. With that, the emotionally jarred extended family began filing out the door one at a time, with Selina in front followed by Sophie and her other parent, just in case the distraught teen made another break for it.

            “I won’t let you do this, Carly!” Sophie croaked, her words devolving back into moist sobs once she realized she’d resoundingly lost this battle. “I know you have him! Somewhere! I swear to God, if… if something happens to him, you won’t be able to cover it up, I’ll make SURE that-”

            “That’s enough,” her father barked sharply as the security officer pressed open the door at the end of the dormitory hall. Curious co-ed onlookers peeked out their doors at the tragic parade.

            “Don’t pay attention to her, honey,” Leah breathed to Carly, dabbing away a trickled tear with her knuckle. “We just need to get home and forget about all of this, all right? Spend some time together. You know? So just ignore her.”

            “Don’t worry Mom,” the young goddess responded, nibbling the corner of her lip and perfectly calibrating her voice to crackle with just the right amount of distressed quavering. “I will.”

            With her free hand, Carly traced a line down the small of her back, casually letting her digits hang just above the taut curve of her denim-clad ass, and caressed affectionately at the nigh-invisible lump that arose at the center of her coveted rump, where she’d stashed her most valuable possession in the whole world: the one place none of them would’ve possibly thought to look for the specter of a long-vanished soul.

 

End Notes:

The next chapter will pick up shortly after the end of this one but, moving on from there, the chapters will skip around in time to focus on individual scenarios, similar to A Little Blackmail 4.

Please let me know what you think!

Chapter 2: Welcome to Your Life, Little Bro by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

Carly vows to own her tiny brother for the rest of their lives.

            Like clockwork, your heart is still working itself up into an unhealthily aerobic threshold every ten minutes or so at the thought of all you know being obliterated, if only this afternoon had played out a little differently.

            When Sophie arrived in a surprise rampage at Carly’s college dorm room, had you not warned your sister in time, your whole life might well have been launched into an unknown trajectory of shame and solitude, without the holy guidance of Carly to direct your every want, need, and desire for the rest of your natural life.

            But by the grace of whatever merciful deities may or may not be pulling the strings up in the beyond, that’s not what happened. You are still the universe’s best-kept secret. You are still your sister’s treasured property.

            “Feeling good again, little bro?” Carly questions gently as she cradles you in her expansive palm, her fingers curling every so often down into your quivering naked body and stroking the grooved pad of her digits along your bare skin. With the door to her bedroom back home double-locked, the lights dimmed low in her fortress of pink, and your nearly six-foot sister-turned-goddess sprawled out in an especially skimpy midriff-bearing undershirt and robin’s egg short-shorts as she reclines on her bed with you cupped into the warm flesh of her hands, it’s definitely difficult to complain.

            A warm bath in the sink was more than appreciated after you spent a couple of hours clenched and concealed between Carly’s golden-tanned butt cheeks, the one place no one could possibly think to look even if Sophie’s claims didn’t come off as the shrieked whims of someone on too creative a cocktail of opioids.

            It wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience, at least at first, as your titanic sibling had to allay any and all suspicion by strutting about with her usual confident fervor, despite having a human life entrapped between those fleshy globes. For you, it meant a continual battering amidst a pair of weighty curved walls, pancaking you between them and smushing your back into the puckered portal of her anus every time the fabric of her panties rode down into her crack, strapping you tightly into where the sun very infrequently shone. Oxygen was at a premium, especially given the increasingly sweaty, sticky conditions available to you for filling up your lungs.

            Though if you’re honest with yourself, you couldn’t help but feel some disappointment once Carly’s fingers finally fished down into her ass and plucked you out like a forgotten plug.

            “Uh-huh,” you answer quietly as you curl into Carly’s thumb. The slender digit caresses in a figure-8 formation over your narrow chest, relaxing you into liquid form in your sister’s creased palm.

            “Why are you still shaking?” she mumbles dearly, narrowing her eyes at you. For an instant, your jaw catches, and you can only witness those auric cataracts shifting over her shapely shoulders and arms, wondering what life might’ve been like if you couldn’t still view them at this distinctly epic scale.

            Would life still have been worth living?

            Hell, could you still even be considered alive without Carly?

            “Just… trying to calm down,” you explain, feeling open like never before with your enormous sibling. Already you have the sense that things are permanently altered, as if the last barrier separating the reality you and Carly exist in has been shattered, and yet the simultaneous knowledge that it’s all right. Everything is fine.

            This is correct.

            “Aww. I know it must’ve been a lot to go through today. I know you were afraid to tell me what happened with Sophie. But it’s okay now,” she coos, displaying some raw sympathy in such a way you honestly can’t say you’ve ever seen in Carly that wasn’t just being used to shroud a demonic grin and a demented plan to utilize your body for new and darkly amusing purposes. Those commanding blue eyes can hide an awful lot, and they have for many years from the rest of humanity, but it seems they can no longer fully do so in your presence.

            Another change.

            “Y-Yeah,” you gulp. “I know.”

            “We just gotta be a little more careful for a little while,” Carly explains nonchalantly. Her tongue laps at the corner of her mouth, slicking a thin, glistening line along the pink flesh. The thumb that’s been stroking in circles just above your ribcage snakes a little lower, pinning down your hands and making its way over your abdomen, kneading your frail form and reclaiming every square millimeter of your body as hers with absolute certainty.

            And God, it feels like heaven. Those silky fingers, casting over your skin again and again, unafraid to touch you at any and every angle, letting you become intimately aware of the spooled patterns of her fingertips. You wish she’d never let go, except maybe to furrow you into the flushed wrinkles of her sole to the brink of drunkenness.

            “You know, just until Sophie figures out she didn’t really see you,” your savior trails.

            You frown, momentarily anxious that your sister’s misunderstood the stakes here. Such a misstep can’t be afforded, now that you both finally have everything you ever wanted. “But… but she… she did see me. She-”

            “She thinks she saw Jack Arton,” Carly interjects comfortably, the logic of it crystal-clear in that pretty head of hers. Just by her tone, already you’re becoming more accepting of it yourself, though you don’t know why. As long as Carly knows, though, then everything is fine. “She thinks she saw a boy who used to be taller than six feet and do nerdy computer stuff and be a jerk to me while he was pretending to be a person on his own.”

            “Y-Yeah?”

            “But that’s not who she saw.”

            “Then… who?” you mutter dumbly, letting the fragments of your once-rational brain rest motionless until Carly’s fingers come back to piece them back into her designated order. Just like she does with your physical body.

            “She saw my little bro,” Carly simpers, offering a definitive shrug. Her palm rises up higher from the hot-pink bedspread, drawing you closer to her chin as her tongue dances another slippery lap around her lips. “My little bro. No one else’s.”

            “T-Thank you,” you utter, mining more meaning in these few syllables than in most anything you’ve heard for the past several years, and perhaps your whole life. Your shrunken heart is heavy and prone to violent rattling after the panicked events of this day, but easily buoyed by your sister’s booming final declaration.

            “Of course,” Carly says. “Everything will be perfect forever now, Jack. You’ll see.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “I don’t just mean for a long time. I mean forever. Things can be different, now that you see you’re mine. I can make things… good for you, just like you make them good for me. Understand?”

            “Y-Yes.”

            “Yes what?”

            “Yes, sissy.”

            “Good boy,” Carly commends in a buttery tone, her pupils inflating by the second, the goose bumps noticeably rising across the tanned plains of her skin. “Maybe I just need to remind, you though.”

            “R-Remind me?”

            “How good things are when you’re mine.” Her angelic lips press together, the delicate skin bulging cutely as she purses them and presses her mouth to your legs. Already her lips are broadening, engulfing your legs, her tongue slathering your limbs as they pull you inside. You, meanwhile, remain in a state of pristine calm, letting your ragdoll muscles yield into your gigantic caregiver’s control.

            With practiced gentleness, Carly forces the writhing mass of her tongue between your legs as she sucks your body into her mouth down to your waist, while her fingers prop up your shoulders into her upper lip. You clasp your hands into the moistened flesh, giving your sister’s full lip a squeeze in delight and eternal thanksgiving as her tongue commences fondling your exposed junk. Letting the endless gallons of saliva lubricate the exchange to painfully tingling effect, the girl’s red muscle flicks and cradles your miniature member. She scoops half your body into the constantly morphing protrusion, running and flexing the whole length of her massive, slimy tongue along your crotch and thighs.

            Those pillared fingers of hers pin into your limbs, plastering your body against her lips and pull more of you inside, until her teeth are gently positioned just above your chest. Heat is rising beneath your skin, your ear drums thumping with the steady spin cycle of her saliva and a soft, pulsing murmur from the back of Carly’s throat.

            Further up the length of the bed, you hear the rustle of fabric and the snap of a button being tugged free. Carly’s free hand disappears from view, burrowing beneath her stomach and down toward her waist, and in an instant you understand what’s happening.

            As your sister digs her opposite hand down into her panties and begins playing with herself, her jaws hang briefly opening, releasing the pressure on you just for an instant. A guttural moan like none you’ve ever heard uttered by your nineteen-year-old sibling lurches from her throat, billowing in your skull and making your member pulse as never before. To prevent you from slipping out of her control, though, her fingers curl and tighten back around your limbs and re-fasten you into the slope of her writhing tongue.

            The routine in your sister’s mouth picks up the pace in sync with her own rapid masturbation, Carly’s tongue pinpointing on your initially timid dick and accelerating the swampy massage with a spit-sloshing vengeance. It doesn’t take more than twenty seconds before your body responds appreciatively, your rod stiffening further against the infinite distance of Carly’s loving tongue as it encircles you. The spongy walls of her cheeks depress in and out as she suckles your legs and family jewels, beginning to coax a climax out of you in record time. You can feel the end approaching already.

            “Not yet,” she chokes out, unable to get every syllable out cleanly, given how much of your body is jammed between her chompers. Her voice pleads with you. “Don’t cum yet.”

            “Okay,” you pant desperately. Your muscles tighten, your veins seemingly ready to pop, but you obey, holding it in. Straddling the line between incredible liquid pleasure and sexually stunted agony, you simply exist, and wait.

            She can flip you on and off like a light switch. She knows it, you know it, and you love it more than anything, except for maybe Carly herself.

            You grunt from the effort of holding in your miniature load, wrapping your legs around Carly’s tongue, subconsciously in an attempt to slow its pace and stave off your inevitable burst.

            “Please… not… yet… little… bro…” your sister cries in the quiet, her triceps flexing with the effort to deliver herself to the finish line via practiced pumps of her fingers south of her waist. “Hold… onto… me.”

            Complying comes so naturally, you’ve hardly processed the words before your body follows the order. Planting more licks and bites against Carly’s upper lip is all you can manage as your legs flail and shake beyond your control, having seemingly given themselves over to your sister’s mouth without even letting you know. Your dick, of course, long ago independently gave itself over to her.

            Another moan echoes through the cavern of Carly’s throat below you, shaking your body, and placing you in perfect alignment with the thrusts of her entire body as she humps into the tousled sheets of her bed.

            “Almost,” she huffs. Her palm clasps to your back, the gyrations of her hips in full gymnastic force. “Wait… wait… wait… three… two…”

            The climax is historic. Almost biblical. For both of you, but speaking for yourself, it’s nothing like anything you’ve ever experienced, and that includes each and every time your sister has teased a guilty orgasm out of you against your will, and even the consensual toe-fuck you experienced in her room earlier today.

            No. this is something new. A squeal is ripped from your tiny throat in tandem with the ethereal bellow from the temple of your titanic sister’s mouth. The force of it feels like having your entire being fired out from the end of your member, consumed directly into Carly’s own massive being, and indeed, that’s what’s transpired. Empty as you should feel after that, you’re fuller than ever, warmed to your very soul by Carly’s guidance. Her absolute control of you and everything that pertains to your existence. Just trying to regain your lost breath, you gasp with undying gratitude for all she’s done to make your being take on some kind of significance, no matter how small.

            “Welcome to your life, little bro,” Carly croons with so much sticky love you just might melt into her lips and slide down her throat.

            You can’t begin to fathom a better existence.

 

End Notes:

Please comment!

Chapter 3: Shoe-Tasting Party (Part 1) by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

Carly invites Jack to sample and taste every one of her giant shoes and share his feelings. Part 1.

            “What about these?” Carly questions as she jabs her enormous thumb gently at the back of your shrunken scalp, burrowing your face even deeper into the black, squishy terrain of her current favorite basketball trainers until your senses are fully ensconced with that familiar rancid, feminine musk.

            The dark fuzz of the trampled environment snags between your teeth as you gulp up a powerful whiff, filling your lungs to capacity with the absolute stinging effluvium of your gigantic sister’s athletic wear. That spicy zest of her omnipresent sweat, coiled around the memory of her preferred brand of strawberry lotion, clouds your sinuses, and you feel your body attempting to cough, but you don’t let it. Instead you exhale and suck up a new breath. Savoring it like wine. Or at least, how you imagine people savor wine.

            “Well?” the girl queries. Her fingers stroke along your back as she holds you into the shadowy hovel of her left shoe. “These have to smell worse than the Uggs.”

            She’s got a good point. As thick and hot as the Uggs get, cooking Carly’s powerful tanned peds to a very precise degree such that the fur lining now reeks just as potently as their source, this is stronger. And why wouldn’t it be? These puppies have been there through drills, suicide sprints, and buzzer-beaters, sopping up moisture by the gallon leached from her taut and equally-worn socks.

            Just be to sure, though, your tongue darts out of your lips, sampling the mushy ground still bearing the pounded insignia of Carly’s massive instep. Booming laughter rebounds off the padded insole as the girl’s fingers coil back around you, collecting your body into her palm as she snatches you out and sets you back on the carpet of her college dorm floor.

            “That seemed like more than a sniff,” she says as she reclines back upon the floor just before the closet wherein she stores all of her hallowed footwear, into which you’ve spent the past thirty minutes spelunking and offering sensory opinions for your sister’s amusement as well as scientific knowledge.

            Of course, the vast majority of these fashionable options you’ve spent at least some time in before, usually while Carly’s writhing, sweaty toes grapple with your naked body for company. So much so, in fact, that for most of the items, you’ve got a fairly well-formed idea already of how they smell, taste, feel on your skin, and just how intense the heat can get.

            However, this is the first time you’ve sat down together and had a frank discussion about the objective quality inside each pleasure-prison. It’s bizarre like little else you’ve experienced in this already macabre misadventure of a life to be willfully sampling each and every humongous shoe and explaining the results to your delighted sibling, all so both of you will get exactly what you want in the very near future. No games, no torment, no trickery. Just a girl and her shrunken slave debating how best to keep him intimately close with the lowest part of her body, experiencing precisely what she wants him to.

            Certainly things have been different in the two weeks since Sophie very nearly ended your intended lifelong worship of your enormous sister. Now that you’re back on campus for the spring semester, though, and finally, definitively alone with Carly for the first time since the earth-breaking revelation the pair of you reached on that day, it’s becoming clear just how much different.

            “Jack?” Carly murmurs. “Giving sissy’s shoes a taste, huh?”

            “Uh-huh,” you agree dryly, thrust into the present again. Admittedly your attentions are diverted to the environment directly in front of you.

            Carly’s nearly six-foot frame is sprawled out on the carpet, supported up on her elbows now behind her back. Her legs are stretched toward the opening of the closet, her bare feet crested comfortably on their sides, her alabaster-rose soles continually wrinkling for your entertainment. Even rested on their sides, each of the girl’s legendary peds is taller than you, and they never fail to arrest. You can feel your member perking to life already.

            “You’re such a horny dork, aren’t you?” the girl chuckles, shaking her head as she drinks in your befuddled reaction. She scrunches her toes cutely above. “You just can’t get enough of me.”

            “Guilty as charged.”

            “Uh-huh,” she replies, raising an eyebrow. “Save some of that energy for later. You’re not even inside the shoe yet. And it’s gonna be an awfully sad afternoon if I don’t feel you humping my toes from time to time.”

            “I can still do it!” you declare proudly.

            “Oh?” she smarms, a smirk on her lips. “Maybe you could a little bit, but I like to be able to feel you down there. You know how happy that makes me. And I know you want to make me happy, right?”

            “Y-Yes,” you state. “But I can do it. Promise.”

            “We’ll see about that,” your younger sister says, though a knowing grin curves the corners of her lips again. She taps an index finger at the edge of her mouth, flipping the plushest section of her lip up and down. “Don’t forget I’m probably gonna get bored during class and use you for a little flexor exercise. Coach says I need to be doing more quick endurance training on my calves anyway.”

            “No you don’t,” you mumble, your eyes drifting up the tremendous length of your sibling’s limbs and to the bulbous, angelically-carved calf muscles bulging beneath the bronzed skin. You can feel the saliva pooling in the base of your mouth. She hasn’t asked you to massage them in a long time.

            “Oh, you little charmer, you,” Carly giggles, narrowing her eyes playfully. She tightens the mighty pillars of her sprawling legs, and you watch the rock-hard muscle beneath rippling in a stark pattern up and down her thighs and shins. It’s like witnessing accelerated terraforming. No, scratch that. It’s better. Much better. “You know just what to say to a girl, don’t you? Too bad I’m the only one you’re ever going to have chance to use it on.”

            “No it’s not,” you say earnestly, and you’d swear you can see a twinkle in Carly’s eyes pass over as she appreciates the genuine feeling in your tone. She sighs longingly, tilting her head at an angle and letting her dishwater-golden locks cascade messily over her shoulder.

            “Well, one of us has to stay nice and strong around here,” she continues with a sultry wink and another mesmerizing clenching effect down the length of both legs simultaneously.

            All you can do is watch in awe as the fleshy canyon in which you find yourself upon the carpet, flanked on either side by those creamy, flexing soles. Having her as your amazonian princess, muscled enough for the both of you and then some, gives you immense comfort, where once it put your soul on the brink of extinction from fear.

            “Don’t get too distracted yet, you cute little perv,” Carly teases, tsking at you and waggling a finger as she leans back forward. “You’re lucky I’m so generous with these pretties, or I’d have to get you back for ogling me, you know?”

            “Sorry,” you mutter, quickly averting your gaze down to the secondhand fibers of the carpet. It doesn’t pay to get too cocky, even if you can tell how much your sister adores this newly playful attitude of yours.

            Carly unleashes another little giggle. You know she doesn’t really take offense to you lusting after her prodigious body parts, but that doesn’t make it any less life-affirming to hear that commanding tone take over her singsong timbre like you know so well. The way that throaty laugh of hers echoes off esophagus practically gets your loins stirring anew.

            “That’s a good boy. My good little boy toy,” she whispers. “Now close your eyes.”

            Gratefully, you place yourself back into darkness, feeling utter security, despite being as vulnerable right now as could be humanly possible as you stand, sightless, naked, and three inches tall between a pair of buckling bare basketball feet.

            Just as you’d hoped, to the chorus of Carly’s snickering, you’re tackled backward by two bum-rushing masses of grooved flesh. Your sister’s titanic toes clench you into the fleshy crevice and lift you easier than a packing peanut off the carpet, lithely reaching back into the closet with you on the end of her leg.

            “Keep them closed,” your sister instructs softly as she carries you delicately over the mouth of a new shoe and finally parts her toes, releasing you into the spongy darkness.

            You land softly on the meshy insole, rolling into the center as you collect your senses and take in the first few huffs of the acrid, luscious air scented of the frilly body odor of your personal goddess.

            “Which one are you inside now?” you hear her chuckle from beyond. “Remember. No peeking until I say so.”

            “Okay,” you mumble. No sense in hesitating. Bowing your head, you press your nose and mouth into the fabric and begin inhaling like the foot detective you are.

            The scent is fainter than the others you’ve sampled, so clearly it’s a pair of shoes Carly doesn’t wear too often. Some of the others, especially her sandals and athletic shoes, you could’ve recognized within a few seconds of having your face mashed into the oily insole, given how frequently she wears them. The potency is low enough that you can’t help but assume your sister usually wears this particular item with socks on, rather than naked.

            Though so slight it’s practically a ghost, you can detect a chemical scent of some kind: polish, probably. Carly doesn’t take so much pride in her footwear that she’s constantly cleaning and revamping them with product, so you have to guess it’s something that was already there.

            “M-Mary Janes?” you question quietly, your eyes still clenched shut.

            “Ohhh you’re good at this game, aren’t you?” Carly congratulates, and suddenly you can feel the steam of her breath wafting against your neck as she leans in to peer inside the shoe at you. Batting your eyes back open, your suspicion is confirmed as you realize you’re housed in the black buckled shoe that your titanic sibling only wears on the rarest occasions for church.

            “Uh-huh,” you agree, happy as a clam to have pleased her.

            “Well?” she drawls. “Aren’t you going to taste this one, too?”

            “Uh-huh.” Your repeated syllables are drowned out as you practically bruise your nose on the rapid descent back into the white insole. Jamming your tiny tongue against the branded material, you slake a thin line along the threaded fabric, summoning up whatever long-dormant molecules of grit and foot sweat might’ve melted into it. Your stomach gurgles at the promise of more nourishment, as does your libido.

            “Lick harder.” The voice comes from the void beyond the shoe, of course, but for all the warmth and lustful invitation of it, Carly’s voice seems to have gnawed its way inside your skull.

            “Y-Yes,” you mumble through a mouthful of shoe fabric.

            “Yes, what?”

            “Yes, big sissy,” you muster.

            “Good boy toy,” she repeats with tingling ambrosia.

 

End Notes:

Please comment!

Chapter 4: Shoe-Tasting Party (Part 2) by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

Carly invites Jack to sample and taste every one of her giant shoes and share his feelings. Part 2.

“Well? What do you think, little bro?” Carly questions from above. “How does my shoe taste?”

            “You don’t wear these as much,” you comment, smacking your jaws with the taste of her footwear’s interior still fresh on your breath.

            “They’re kinda uncomfortable, but hot damn, they’re cute on me,” your sister says, resting her chin on a gently closed fist. “Even if they do look more like little girl shoes.”

            “Yes,” you answer resolutely as you crouch inside her Mary Janes.

            Shaking her head as she cracks another smile, your giant sister’s hand suddenly blots out the dorm room’s glow, her fingers dipping back into the shoe to retrieve you.

            “Would you like that, Jackie-poo?” Carly queries as her digits wrap around you. “If your big sissy put on her little girl shoes for you sometime?”

            Not quite sure of how to answer that, you realize that it would be just about nigh-impossible to actually imagine your goddess-keeper-sister as anything resembling “little,” let alone someone younger when she’s had the non-chronological mantle of “big sister” for so long.

            “What am I saying? Of course you would,” she concludes for you. Her firm fingers shift around you, dangling you between the tips as she deposits you over another set. “I need to wear them more often anyway. Make sure there’s a little more of… me in them, you know?”

            “Uh-huh,” you agree, not at all conflicted on this particular point.

            “I want you to be able to know what shoe you’re in with your eyes closed as soon as I put you in, little bro,” Carly says as she at last releases her grip on your, allowing you to plop cautiously into the leathery maw of a navy blue high heel. “Will you try to do that for big sissy?”

            “Yes,” you say.

            “Good,” she relents. “That would make me so happy.”

            “I want to make you happy,” you feed her back. You grasp at the edge of the shoe, meekly making an attempt to poke your head out the top and be seen, rather than sliding down the insole to the tip.

            “Glad to hear it, cutie,” she giggles, raising an eyebrow. Her fingers arch back toward you as she gently presses a fleshy thumb pad into your face, pushing you backward and easily breaking your grip on the top of the footwear. “Now be a good little brother and start licking the inside of sissy’s shoe.”

            “S-Sure!” you cry with some feigned surprise, tumbling awkwardly down the slope of the heel. Plunking against the squishy curve of the inner pointed toe, you greedily set to work lapping on the walls. As is immediately evidenced by the sour flavors accosting your tongue within three licks of the leathery cave, Carly jams her feet into these fashionable towers far more often than the Mary Janes. Moreover, the general lack of stockings while doing so is clear, as the taste is only the purest, acrid zest of Carly’s heel-baked skin grinding continually against the leather.

            At this realization, your mouth can’t help but water in earnest, making it easier to continue sampling. Personally, your preference has always been for whatever puts you in the closest proximity to Carly’s body, especially the twin altars upon which you so often prostrate yourself.

            “Somebody’s hungry, huh?” the girl observes from above, casting a fresh shadow into the heel. “Lap it up, little bro.”

            “Okay,” you gasp, pulling your jaws away from the sloping line only long enough to respond before you plaster your mouth back against the noisome leather.

            “Wait. I wanna make a note on this one, too,” Carly says, perking up as she picks up her cell phone from the carpet, where it’s been lying for the past few minutes. Clicking it on and pulling up her note-taking app, she glances back in your pathetic direction. “Describe how this one smells and tastes, Jackie-poo. I want your exact words.”

            “Sure…” you repeat, wiping your mouth as you slink back onto your haunches. After a moment, Carly’s fingers surround you again for collection. “It’s… it’s, um, stronger than a lot of the others, um… more like… sour, I guess? But… but not a in a bad way, um… but also kind of flatter on the end, like plastic.”

            “Good to know,” Carly mumbles, a savagely self-serving grin creasing her lips as she types. “Stronger than the last ones?”

            “Definitely,” you assert immediately.

            “Uh-huh. Good, good… and the flats?”

            “Maybe a… little bit stronger than the flats. Those are, um… more like… foods or something. I don’t know, they’re… wetter, down… in the… stuff, so like… your skin, mixed with, like, pickle juice or something…”

            “Vinegar,” Carly finishes for you, wrinkling her nose cutely, another grin broadening over her cheeks. “And my skin. Perfect.”

            “I know,” you repeat back in utter earnest.

            Carly stops dead, blinking in the glow of her phone screen and finally setting it down before she casts her gaze back down to you, and the way those baby-blues of hers are flickering like little flames, you can see the lust rising up inside her skull. Her tongue plays against the corner of her lip as she brandishes you in her fingers.

            “You know,” she sighs, cocking her head to the side. “You’re getting to do so much tasting this morning, it’s… kinda making me want a turn, you know?”

            “Uh-huh,” you mumble breathlessly, arrested by the sight of your gigantic sibling’s lips flushing and plumping as her tongue does laps around the rim, slicking it with saliva.

            “After all, it’s just about breakfast time… and you know what they say about breakfast time, right, little bro?”

            “Y-Yeah.”

            “What do they say?” she demands sultrily. She draws her hand in closer toward her face, zeroing in your gaze onto her bulging blue eyes and purring lips. Her tongue slithers out, flicking at your bare chest.

            “T-That it’s the most important meal of the day.”

            “That sounds about right,” she murmurs, licking a single track up the length of your body with such precision it instantly sends a shudder through your marrow like a bolt of lightning. “I gave you a nice tasty breakfast of my shoes… your favorite.”

            “Thank y-you.”

            “You’re welcome, Jackie-poo. But you’re not the only one here who needs to eat, right?”

            “N-No.”

            “We wouldn’t want little ol’ me to go hungry, right?”

            “No, Carly.” Your whole body is aching so hard for those pulsating lips and glistening tongue you can barely hold still in her powerful fingers.

            “Thought so,” she breathes, at last giving in to your obvious loss of willpower. “Try not to cum too fast.”

            Her lips curl open and thrust against your body, just flattening the broadest segment of her dappled tongue against your lower body and charming a squeal of arousal out of you when her phone alarm chirps from the floor.

            “Shit,” she groans, pulling you away from her sopping lips and nearly causing you to burst into tears from the teasing torture of it all. She loosens her grip on her sides, letting you flop down into the center of her palm again as the saliva congeals on your hips. “Class is in like ten minutes. We need to get going.”

            “Okay,” you sigh regretfully, stretching your arms out and willing yourself not to catch blue balls, though it’s probably too late.

            “I think I’m going with the flats today,” she announces, snatching them up with her free hand as she ascends back to her full height of five-eleven with hardly a wobble in balance or shift in her fingers.

            She folds her thumb over your naked torso, which you happily embrace, despite how difficult it is to cool off when your sister’s enormous digit is laid, warm and soft, across your lustful form. Especially given how often she finds excuses to brush the tip of her finger across your spit-moistened crotch without making it look like it was done on purpose, playing gentle whack-a-mole with your all-too-eager dick. It’s a game you can’t imagine you’d ever get tired of.

            As Carly sits on the edge of the bed, donning her shoes with a rustle of her toes and an appealing flex of her mighty calves, which you witness through the crack between her fingers, you watch her still-fiery eyes swiveling between the carpet below and the miniature naked slave clasped in her palm. She brushes a dishwater-blonde lock of hair away from her forehead and lets her smile slide nearer to one cheek.

            “Sorry I got you all worked up for nothing, little bro,” she muses, tickling between your legs again with her thumb. Like the shrunken puppy dog you are, you respond with another spasm of your limbs, hugging her finger in closer to your body until she can feel your heartbeat pounding hopefully through your chest cavity while the rest of her finger squeezes into your family jewels.

            “It’s okay…” you sigh, trying not to sound too pitifully disappointed.

            “Tell you what,” Carly says with a wink, licking her lips again. “We’ll compromise.”

            “Compro-” you mumble back questioningly, but before you can even tease out the full word, Carly’s lips are wrapped back around you, sucking your legs cleanly into her mouth like spaghetti noodles and centering the squirming drill of her flexing tongue onto your crotch. With another moan, you savor the feeling of her juices slopping against your skin, her punching bag-sized muscle continually sponging and bulging at your thighs, coaxing your member to rise within seconds.

            “There…” Carly drawls, pulling you away from her lips again. A strand of crystalline spit dangles from between her mouth and your now-seething junk, but she flicks it away with a pinky finger, her eyes glowing with delight at the sight of you marinating in her morning-breath-scented dampness. She wipes a knuckle over her mouth. “That should get you nice and lubed up.”

            “Oh…” you utter, suddenly putting the pieces together as gravity falls away and Carly’s fingers dip you down toward the carpet, blotting out the light and coolness in one stroke as she deposits you into her flat.

            Her long toes wriggling gleefully at your arrival, Carly peers down at you from the throne of her bed. You can’t help but cower onto your knees, waiting patiently as you gaze up at the tanned goddess above while she taunts you with her toes, splaying and popping at the joints.

            “I think we’ll start with these,” your enormous sister declares, nodding to herself as she examines you with a furrowed brow. “We’ll see how you’re feeling at lunchtime, after I’ve gotten through two classes. Then at noon, we’ll swap you out…”

            “Aww…” you can’t help but mumble.

            “…into a different shoe,” Carly adds quickly, raising an eyebrow at your appetite and smirking again. “We’ll just go off the list. You know, figure out what’ll work best for you for the rest of the afternoon.”

            “Okay.”

            “Try not to get too tired, though. We’ve got more work to do after class.”

            “Oh?”

            “Uh-huh. Especially because now that I’ve got down notes on smell and taste for some of these, we need to find out the rest. All of them. You’re gonna have to try out every single shoe in this closet, little bro,” Carly explains in her drollest tone, a simpering smirk on her lips. “Think you can handle that?”

            “I’ll try,” you joke back, offering her a wink.

            “Cuz you know I won’t be satisfied with, like, a couple words. I want some details.”

            “I know,” you answer. You can’t imagine anyone else in all of human history could ever possibly have enjoyed any form of note-taking as much as you are at this instant. “I can do that.”

            “Good. Because then we’ll have… something else to figure out. That I hope you’ll be able to help me with. And actually, you can start right now,” she says. With a final scrunch of her toes that suggestively nudge at your aching nethers, Carly shoves the rest of her foot into the flat, though there’s just enough of a sliver of light and oxygen remaining that her voice can reach you as well.

            “W-What is it?” you gasp, bowled instantly over as your sister’s mammoth toes set about wrestling you down into the insole of the filthy shoe, bathing you in its sour essence and grinding the grids of her toeprints over your face.

            “We’re gonna find out, mathematically, just how much you love being in each and every one of my shoes,” Carly calls out to you below. Suddenly, with a last pull, she manages to wedge your already bulging erection into the musky crevice of her third and fourth toes. “All you have to do is count and tell me later. Think you can handle your homework, Jackie-poo?”

            “Y-Yes!” you wheeze, shuddering as the girl’s toes expertly squirm around your vulnerable midsection. She rises from the bed and onto the balls of her feet, setting off at a brisk walk for the door after scooping up her backpack and purse from the dresser. All the while, with such care and patience you imagine Carly might’ve made a fine gymnast in another life, she manages to jerk your miniscule form off between her toes without even breaking her gait.

            The pair of you have barely made it halfway down the hall when an especially potent squeeze from Carly’s toes causes you to orgasm valiantly into the fleshy grooves between her toes. A booming chuckle from far above confirms she feels it, and the rapid continuing pumps of her toes suggest she isn’t planning on giving you a break yet, or ever, for that matter.

            This is probably going to be the easiest homework you’ve ever received in your life.

 

End Notes:

Please comment!

Chapter 5: Couples Hike by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

Jack pampers his giant sister's sweaty and sore body after her latest athletic victory.

            “Well, look who it is. My number one fan.”

            A flirty chuckle and a broad grin spreads from Carly’s luscious mouth, earning a shiver in your loins almost immediately as she crouches over the rumpled sheets of her bed and gazes at you below.

            The silky strands of her golden hair are still matted in a sticky webbing over her forehead. Her skin remains flushed a deep rose from the aerobic pounding she consistently puts herself through in order to maintain that amazonian physique, an effort you’re endlessly proud of in your titanic caregiver. You often can scarcely believe you’re allowed to experience the majesty of those muscles and limbs so close, painted as they are in her pheromones.

            It’s an eternal reminder that there’s no physical duress you could be under that’s demonstrative of anywhere near a fraction of the power Carly daily displays in her acts of sporting prowess.

            Her hand opens, reaching for you, the creased roadmap of her palm unfolding. Your heart almost sprouts wings.

            You experience the fresh calluses lining the bridges of her fingers as she collects you back into her creamy palm, puffy and delicate peelings, and instinctively you feel a sense of anger at the spotted hide of the basketball that’s blemished her perfect flesh. It’s hard not to chuckle at this fact as you’re lifted out of the pile of pink blankets and brandished in your giant sister’s palm.

            Like an angry chihuahua puppy that thinks it’s a pitbull, you imagine you’d be unable to avoid getting fired up at the notion of anything from a mosquito to a nuclear missile damaging Carly’s infrastructure in any way, shape, or form. You may be tiny, pathetic, and utterly at your sister’s mercy for everything from food and sleep to oxygen and orgasms, but that doesn’t mean you can’t feel fiercely protective of her still.

            “Did you have a nice nap, little bro?” Carly smarms, the syllables hastened ever so slightly as she continues to catch her breath. She coils her fingers firmly around you into a loving embrace of her fist, clenching you just below the level of her lower lip, so that the only thing you can do is crane your neck in effort to drink in the full sight of her face.

            The unmistakable, briny effluvium of her sweat nearly bowls you over in her fist, surrounding you in a fog of feminine odors tainted by the artificial sweetness of a cantaloupe-scented deodorant. The fruity musk is no match for Carly’s muscles on the night of a big game, like this one, but she lays it on thick enough that it creates a bizarre harmony of aromas: the brackish vinegar of her pores coalesced with the flower-printed beauty products she plasters on with such abandon.

            “Y-Yes,” you mumble blearily, nearly overtaken by the odor, dizzied by it, but at last getting a handle on yourself. You lay a cheek down against Carly’s curled finger. “T-Thank you.”

            It goes without saying, but the years you underwent of spending all day in a darkened, musty sock drawer seem to be behind you. Where once your sister had to take precautions against your escape, now, as long as she leaves the door double-locked and shades drawn to prevent surprise visitors, she’s free to leave you on the bed in broad daylight, with an assortment of food crumbs, water ladled into a bottle cap, and her wrinkled used clothing for comfort. Once or twice, she’s even taken the courtesy to leave the TV on for you: usually tuned to a marathon of romantic comedies or chick flicks, but still.

            “Of course, cutie,” she breathes, another smirk playing over her lips. A victorious hum rolls up from her throat. “We did good tonight.”

            “What was the score?”

            “52-41. We wrecked ‘em, considering how they’ve been doing other places.”

            “Good,” you regard, bobbing your head and laying a soft peck on the skin of Carly’s knuckle. “On to the championship?”

            “On to the championship,” she huffs happily, shaking her head and letting a few stray tufts bat away from the sweat-darkened patches at her roots. Carly’s tongue parts the barrier of her lips and slakes down her parched skin as she continues to eyeball you with increasingly broadened pupils. “Only…”

            “What?”

            “Well, you know… tonight really… took a lot out of me,” she explains casually, crossing her feet one over the other far below. She casts her baby blues to the ceiling, puffing her cheeks for comic effect. “And, you know, I could just really use a way to relax… take a load off…”

            “Uh-huh,” you reply numbly, hoping this is going where you think it is.

            “Know anybody who could handle something like that?” she queries cutely, flashing you the biggest kitten eyes you think you’ve ever seen. You just might turn to liquid and seep right through her fingers, plopping down to her feet far below. Which, all things being equal, isn’t that bad a fate either.

            “I bet I do…” you mumble, playing along.

            “I’m thinking maybe… just maybe… a tough, strong, naked little boy who’s feeling super-thirsty for his big sissy’s body… since she’s been working oh-so-hard to be the best owner ever…” Cary simpers dreamily.

            Down low, you hear the telltale music of her basketball shoes being pried away from her ankles and thumping to the floor. Fabric stretching and rubber thumping. Leaning into the mattress for support and reaching below, she quickly tugs the soggy knee-highs away from her golden, gleaming calves, leaving the enormous might of her twin bare feet to wriggle in moist liberty against the carpet. Her lubricated toes squeeze together, popping at the joints, just for your ears.

            You’re just about on the verge of drooling now.

            “I… I h-have a c-couple ideas,” you mumble, practically overtaken with animal lust now, inhaling as deeply as possible to fill your body with the harmoniously briny air of Carly’s newly freed feet far below.

            “Oh?” she coos. Her haunches lower back over the bed, her basketball shorts hugging tighter around the perfect moon-globes of her toned ass as she sinks into the ruffled throne of her bed sheets. “Maybe you can give me an example, then.”

            Your skin practically aches with necessity of increased contact as you feel yourself willfully sliding through the clammy tube of flesh constituting your giant sister’s fist, which swiftly lowers down to her thighs, rushing along the slender length of her shins and ankles.

            As Carly arcs her legs out onto the bed in full, stretching and arching her powerful limbs a final time before settling her triumphant, sweat-riddled body into the bedspread, you can’t help but reflect with greedy glee at the thought of her moisture soaking into the roiling fabric sea of linens. Already you can see the shadowy stains of her salty excretions dabbing and dripping from her back and hair into the bed. Even if she wipes it down with a towel in a few minutes, you’re going to have the run of the mattress tomorrow to absorb it all again. Beloved leftovers.

            Your feet touch down into the toned curve of her right ankle ankle. Her fingers give you a last loving squeeze before they part away from you, though her thumb lingers for just a second longer on your junk, the grooves of her digit grinding delicately on you.

            Catching your balance, you turn to the left just in time to see your titanic sister’s left foot curving in across the sheets, ruffling them anew as her instep comes to rest against her opposite calf, propped up right in your reach.

            The robust fragrance multiplies again as you sink your hands into the wrinkled skin. New flavors are released with each square micrometer you squeeze. Grappling with every rubbery rivet in Carly’s peachy sole, you set to work in a job you could never get tire of doing. Conscious of your uneven stance on the round of Carly’s ankle, you can feel her muscles flexing beneath the tanned skin, keeping as steady as possible to give you ample work space and comfort. The sweat sweeps from her pores the harder you knead the wall of her foot, pruning your own digits with the salt, which you happily accept, even licking your fingers a few times for good measure.

            From far beyond at the head of the bed, you can make out your adoring giant sibling’s head relaxing into her pillow, her hair a tangled, sweaty mess as it cascades with surprising elegance over her angelic features.

            When you feel you’ve rubbed out as many of the kinks as possible for now, you regretfully release your grip on the loamy mass of Carly’s lower extremity. With a final kiss you lay on her skin, you plop to your hands and knees and commence crawling up the opposite way.

            “Gonna come back and get the other one later?” Carly whispers from beyond.

            “Of course,” you announce.

            “Good,” she chuckles. “Not like you had a choice, but…”

            “I didn’t want one.”

            The route gets easier the higher you descend up your enormous sister’s shin, especially as her calf muscle seems to inflate the further you progress. You dig your knees into the meaty terrain, punching the girl’s limb and willing the weariness out, of course only contributing such little force with your pathetic fists, that it can’t feel like much more than the gentle caressing of chiropractor fingers.

            Indeed, you can tell Carly is of this opinion, as she releases a satisfied huff, letting the stress and congealed exertion of her evening melt into the covers, and into your miniscule body, more importantly. Her arms reach out at her sides, fingers fully extended and pawing at the covers. It seems to be working.

            “Let me take it,” you find yourself whispering as you lay your lips down against the mighty altar of Carly’s knee, far too quietly to be heard by her actual ears. The words surprise even you. You’ve never exactly been one for superstitious or otherwise spiritually minded acts when it comes to these soothing exercises of yours upon Carly’s often battle-worn body. Somehow, though, you find yourself deciding a little variety once in a while isn’t bad. “Relax. Give it all to me.”

            Passing next onto her thigh, still puffed and tensed from running up and down the court all night, the muscular latticework that makes up Carly’s sculpted quadriceps becomes apparent beneath your hands and knees. Soft and sheek though her skin may be at normal size, to one such as you, making your way along the inlet of her limb and not even able to reach the width of her leg end-to-end with your entire body, the earth is of something else now.

            Another pause is warranted now. Unable to help yourself, you taste the gleaming surface of her quad, get your bearings, and get going. The salt is sharper here, only making your mouth water more. Assured that your gestures are felt and appreciated, Carly’s skin twitches, another throaty giggle emanating from above.

            “Stay there a minute,” she requests with a coo. “Please, little bro?”

            She doesn’t need to tell you twice. You recommence the massage, knowing how little it’s doing as you pound your fists and feet into the slight hill of Carly’s toned thigh. Again you drag your tongue down a taut length of the curvature molded into Carly’s quad, not closing your lips until your cheeks are filled with warm sweat leeched from her skin. She fidgets and at last lets her muscles unclench under your aggressive effort to calm her body down.

            You clamber past her basketball shorts, casting only a glance toward the valley in the fabric where her thighs meet. The valley. The smell of it is insistent, as you crawl only a few inches away from it, separated by sweat-logged fabric.

            Sometime. Not yet. You know Carly will let you know when the time is right.

            You still haven’t swallowed the sweat you lapped up from the terrain of your gigantic sister’s leg. Instead you swish it back and forth, letting it grow warmer, tingling your cheeks and stinging only on occasion like acidic fruit.

            This, of course, is better than fruit, not to mention more useful for your survival.

            Hand over hand, you pass the checkpoint of Carly’s waistband, next reaching the sweetest and most fertile of ground on your trek. Deciding you’ve earned the right to see it all at once now, Carly’s thumb pries up the soggy length of her shirt to her chest. You sibling isn’t exactly sporting the barrel of an eight-pack across her stomach, but just by nature of all the crunches she’s done in the gym, it makes an impression. The muscle isn’t immediately obvious until your limbs sink a few millimeters into the give of her golden flesh, and then you feel it, the riveted stretch of her powerful abdominals.

            Carly lets out another sigh, slower this time, letting the air fully inflate her lungs, and you rise ever so slightly higher, ascended by the easy pressure of her stomach. You can’t help but leave another trail of kisses as you make your way toward her navel, dragging your knuckles into the flesh every pace. Your lips have chapped a little from the volume of her sweat you’ve taken in during this game, but it’s a small price to pay.

            You cross your sister’s sizable belly button, only realizing as your manhood dips into the miniature crater in her abdomen just how hard you’ve become. Assuredly, Carly felt it too, but she doesn’t react with anything more than a tingle and a light shudder that quakes her stomach. As you press your face back into the floor of immaculate flesh, kissing and groping the firm earth in your fists, your ear presses to the ground just in time to experience the rumbling tail end of a gurgle deep within.

            She’s hungry.

            The trip up Carly’s torso is accelerated as you glance back in the direction of her face beyond, catching sight of her tongue lashing softly at the corners of her mouth, re-wetting her lips. An invitation for you.

            Opting for the more circuitous route, agonizing as it is to have to wait longer to claim your reward, you burrow under Carly’s shirt folds as you reach her chest. You can feel her fingers helping you from outside as you wrestle through the sour fabric, her pinky even stroking your back as she guides you into the arena of muggy space occupied by her sports bra and, of course, its twin passengers.

            Nimbly passing over the center strap, you wedge yourself into the low valley of Carly’s cleavage. They don’t exactly dwarf you in height like some girls might wish, but your goddess is not other girls, and you know she couldn’t perform as well as she does on the court with larger than she has anyway.

            Plus, your sister seems intent on helping. Shadows flicker outside her shirt, and suddenly the squishy mounds of flesh are ascending and compressing as the enormous athlete presses her breasts together, sandwiching you in between. You stumble only for a moment, turned head over feet. Right where she wants you. With a battered shrug, you kiss all the skin you can reach as Carly has some snickering enjoyment at your minimal expense, juggling her shallow cans back and forth, bouncing you between them. In the valley of her breasts, the lingering aroma of her deodorant, long-ago melted as a white paste into her skin by sheer searing heat, tickles your nostrils and at last coaxes you out of the fleshy fray.

            The crook of Carly’s finger tugs the neck of her shirt up just high enough for you to clamber out. The dim lighting of the bedroom pulls you back into the cooler environment of your sister’s dorm room, accompanied by the all-encompassing visage of your sister’s face, sweet and grinning with all her cheeky brilliance at you on your exit.

            “Welcome back,” she drawls with quiet delight, flashing you a wink sultry enough to make your dick flinch. In the span of a blink, her pupils dart to the activity between your legs. The smile curls wider on her gorgeous, plush lips.

            “Feel better?” you offer with tired jaws.

            “Much,” she vows, shutting her eyes and nibbling her lip. “Guess what your new job is every time after a game from now on?”

            “Uh… how many guesses do I get?” You creep further up toward the nape of Carly’s warm neck.

            “I’ve got a better idea. Everything you guess wrong, you’ll also have to do.”

            “I can live with that.”

            “I bet you can,” Carly proclaims. She tips her chin down against her chest as you approach. Her dirty blonde tresses are twisted in and out of her shirt, plastered to her cheeks and forehead, in wild cataracts on her bronzed flesh. Perfect without trying. It’s like watching a living painted mural surge out of the frame.

            “I’ll… scrub out the bottoms of your basketball shoes?”

            “Wrong,” Carly slurs. “But we’ll make sure you’re right next time.”

            “F-Feed you water?” You press your hands into your sister’s chin and begin your gentle ascent onto her face.

            “Wrong again,” she whispers, her lips barely moving as you press your chest into her mouth. Her thumb appears at your back, fastening you into the pink flesh. “But we’ll add that on.”

            “Um, maybe… snacks? Or… squeeze out your... s-socks? Or…”

            “Shut up already, you sexy little toy,” Carly demands, earning immediate silence from you as her lips part, splaying against your torso.

            Her kisses start out small on your stomach, alternating with degrees of suction that threatens to buckle your back, then gives up just enough to peck and moisten your abs. Like a ripple in water, though, her smooching increases in diameter almost immediately, suddenly engulfing your chest and your hapless cock in one slurp. Her tongue scoops at your lower body, inviting more of you into the sticky depth. All you can do is bite into her upper lip, a moan ricocheting inside her cheeks as you give into the happy dance of this evening ritual.

            You think you could get used to this.

 

End Notes:

Please comment!

Reports of my death/imprisonment were greatly exaggerated.

Chapter 6: Cleanliness is Next to Carlyness by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

Carly and Jack discover a mututal love for hiding him on her body while oblivious family members are nearby.

“Carly!” you hear your mother bellowing from somewhere behind your currently limited field of perception. “Honey, can you come in here?”

            The world around you vibrates with increasing velocity. Cotton scrubbing on warm flesh fills your ear drums. Your skin prickles with goose bumps.

            “What’s up?” your sister booms perkily from above.

            “Carly, you know I hate to have to be the middle school mom again, but you’ve been home on break for a week and a half now, and I haven’t seen you use the laundry machine once,” Leah Arton says. You can almost see her planting her hands on her hips that way she always did when she wasn’t trying to sound too right, though of course you can’t actually see from here.

            “I’ve got a lot of clothes, Mom.”

            “Don’t I know it,” your mother groans, though you can hear the smile in the corner of her lips. The ground shudders gently as your parent pads across your younger sister’s hot-pink bedroom. The closet door creaks open.

            “What?” Carly chuckles. Standing idly, she shifts her weight from one socked heel to the other. Fabric stretches again and again over bare skin, tightening pleasurably and then loosening to allow flesh to smooth out.

            “Oh, don’t “what” me,” your mom scolds playfully. “C’mon, you have all these clothes, so many more back on campus, and I know for a fact you don’t wear half of the things on this rack.” You hear the clack of plastic hangers sliding into one another somewhere off the invisible void.

            “You’ve started keeping data of what I wear?” Carly smarms sweetly.

            “No, but I just might if I think you’re not washing your clothes,” Leah says.

            “Moooom, don’t be ridic. Do I smell bad or something? Just tell me!”

            The thumping of feet again, bearing just a bit more weight than the pair you know so much better. Your mother is near now, as your whole body rattles on her approach. Through the cracks of light you’re afforded, you can just make out the shape of her shadow blotting out the space above. The sheer scope of her is untold, even as she’s shorter than Carly.

            Though your sister is and always will be your goddess, it’s difficult not to ascribe some of the same status to the giant woman who once called you her son. After all, she’s responsible for creating the pair of you, and allowing the universe to blend you into this symbiosis of self. Impossible as it is to imagine, given how it would shatter her reality to discover you now, part of you longs to express to her what a deity your mother is now to you.

            Leah sniffs the air surrounding your sister, then snickers.

            “I guess you smell fine,” your mother sighs. “Mostly. Where are all your clothes going, then?”

            “I don’t know, around? I’ll get to washing them, Mom. Honest. I’ve just been busy.”

            “Mhm, busy sleeping in until noon.”

            “Mom! College is tiring. I’m super-worn out. Can’t you tell?”

            “Actually, no,” Leah says. “You seem happy. Happier even than you were before the holidays, before all that… confusion with Sophie.”

            A cheerful pause passes.

            “Yeah, I guess maybe I am happier since then,” Carly informs your parent.

            “Any particular reason?” your mother presses.

            “Um… I don’t know… the season’s been going well with the team… classes are good…”

            “…boys catching your eye…” Leah offers casually.

            “Mom!” Carly scoffs. A seismic shift suggests she just lightly shoved your mother in the shoulder.

            “I’m just speculating, honey…”

            “Wow. Okay, well, keep on speculating, cuz the boys I’ve met so far on campus are sooooo not even in my league…” Carly drawls. Gravity is budged again. The environment of cotton sponges up around you. You can guess she’s taken a seat on the edge of her bed.

            “All right, all right. I guess that’s good to hear. Your father will appreciate knowing that too, I’m sure,” Leah says. Padding of feet rumble again but gradually grow fainter, as does your mother’s already somewhat distant voice, as though it’s coming from down a tunnel. “So what about any boys you knew before campus? Is it one of them?”

            “Mom!” Carly groans, and the 360-degree eye-roll on your sister’s part is felt on a visceral level.

            Though your mother’s certainly not wrong, at least.

            “Kidding! Just kidding,” Leah reassures. Her voice echoes off the hallway, suggesting she’s on her way out of the room. “Just saying, though. I know for sure I saw you wearing those same socks yesterday, and the day before, and maybe even the day before. Socks are clothes too, you know. They can start to smell!”

            “Fine, fine,” Carly grumbles until she’s left alone at last, the clasp of the door sealing her sanctuary up again. Though you can’t see it, you feel her gaze shift to you, as well as her luscious voice: “Ready for a break?”

            “I guess,” you sigh from inside her sock, over-emphasizing.

            That infectious giggle of hers floods your space. Slumping all the way onto her bed, at last Carly crosses her leg, propping her right foot up against her thigh, and proceeds to free you from the footwear, where you’ve been camping for the past two hours.

            The world of the knee sock peels away, leaving you glued by soft springtime sweat to your little sister’s enormous instep. Her heartbeat thumps proudly against your chest through the wall of tanned flesh.

            “Can you believe all that?” Carly questions to you with a gleeful smirk and a glint in her eye.

            “Nope!” you declare.

            “Do you have a problem with me not washing all my clothes as often?”

            “Nuh-uh.”

            “What about not washing the socks that you’ve been riding around in?”

            “Not in the least.”

            “You sure?” she whispers cheekily, leaning in closer to you. Her nose wrinkles at the proximity to her musky peds. “I guess some of the stuff I’ve been wearing… and that you’ve been worn in… is maybe starting to get just a tiny bit rank…”

            “…and I love it,” you declare emphatically. Finally, you slide yourself away from the warmth and comfort of Carly’s meaty instep. You roll onto her mostly exposed thigh, letting your arms and legs splay out to your sides, savoring the cool air on your skin.

            “So do I,” your sister confirms. Her lips curl into a devious grin again. “Especially when, um… you know…”

            “You mean when…”

            “…she’s here…”

            “…and I’m in…”

            “Uh-huh,” Carly says, bobbing her head. In that instant, you realize it wasn’t just you that got a certain thrill from hiding in such dangerous nearness to your mother, completely oblivious to your life, size, and presence. “Maybe we should… try that again sometime.”

            “Please?” you say.

            Carly shakes her head, fighting back a laugh as she observes your nearly three-inch naked body plastered on her bronzed leg.

            “You look too adorable right there, little bro,” she coos. Her index finger finds its way to your stomach, twirling at your abdomen and prodding with just enough firmness to test your core strength: something she seems to enjoy doing increasingly more in the recent months, as if rediscovering your entire body, not just the parts that react to her. You can’t say you’re not appreciated.

            “I do?”

            “Uh-huh,” she says. Her tongue laps at the corner of her lips, eyes hungry. “Like the itty bitty little peasant, coming to beg his queen for a new house in the scary cold winter.”

            “I’m okay with that,” you say.

            “I am too, but you gotta do it first,” Carly says. The pad of her finger traces up your chest and crooks just under your neck, so gentle, despite the fact that a single flick could crack your skull at the base. Her voice lowers a honey-soaked octave. “Go on. Beg your big sissy-queen for whatever your heart desires.”

            “I… beg you C- my queen…” you begin. Your sister’s gorgeous oceanic blue eyes widen, drinking in your words. “I beg for the right… to exist at your right hand…”

            “And where else?”

            “And your right foot…”

            “You’d probably like that better, anyway,” she adds as a sultry aside. “To do what?”

            “…to wear me while other people are around,” you finish. “Please.”

            “I suppose I can consider it,” Carly says with a wink. Her finger slides to your stomach again, spreading the length of her massive digit from your chest to your legs and begins to gently compress you into the firm flesh of her thigh.

            You melt almost instantly against her skin. It’s like a full-body massage, feeling the taut muscle beneath Carly’s slender limb pulsing with energy under your back as her fingers continue to stroke across your weary but nevertheless inspired front.

            As you flush the oxygen from your lungs under another press from Carly’s finger, letting her control your air, you close your eyes. In the repeated darkness, your skin tingles as your gigantic sister’s pinky finger nudges your dick. You don’t object, of course. Not that she needed to do it to get the process started; you were already halfway to full mast.

            “You wanna be near Mom, hmm?” Carly whispers. Her pinky curls slightly around your pathetically-smaller-by-comparison rod, though with such focus and practice, when you have your eyes closed, you would never have imagined it was just the girl’s smallest finger.

            “Uh-huh,” you puff. At last your sister is relenting the pressure on your stomach, instead pinning you to the landscape of her thigh with the increasing weight of her finger onto your crotch.

            “Why’s that, do you think?” Carly continues. With the most infinitesimal of movements, learned over the five years she’s owned your puny body, your sister begins to fondle you. Up and down, the plush grooves of her pinky finger smush into your rapidly lengthening member. Even by width, her finger swallows it up.

            “B-Because…” you breathe, trying to adjust to carrying on conversation while she masturbates you. “Because she doesn’t know… doesn’t know about me, or that I’m… down there… or anything.”

            “Mhmm…” Carly sighs. Her finger has wedged your miniscule dick into the pad of skin just above her palm, at the base of her digit, and is steadily sandwiching it in: something she’s never tried before. “What do you think she’d do if she did find out?”

            “I d-don’t know,” you admit honestly. Tingles are firing up your spine and into your brain, and quickly turning to shoots of euphoria. “I don’t think she c-could handle it.”

            “I don’t either,” Carly says. By now, she’s leaned in so close to where you’re splayed helplessly on her thigh that her warm breath is fogging your skin. “But it would break her. Totally.”

            “I know it would,” you say, and though you can’t help but feel a hollow sense of regret at that thought in the back of your mind, right now, you have a six-foot-tall blonde goddess tending to your every need, breathing her minty breath into your nostrils and drowning your entranced dick into the skin of her hand. How could you not agree?

            “And there you’d be,” Carly says. “In big sissy’s sock, your precious little face between my toes, listening to her… so close… arm’s reach… and never having to let her know.”

            By now, the girl has your dick firmly planted against her palm, so pathetically dwarfed as it is, pinched under her pinky. For all intents and purposes, she’s giving you the closest thing to a handjob she can, given that your entire body also fits snugly into that same hand. It’s mind-boggling to watch her hand stretch above your body, your junk squeezed into a crease of flesh, expertly handled by a mere pinky finger.

            “Nobody ever has to know,” she chants. “And nobody… ever… will…”

            Your body is warm. Her skin is soft. And everything in the world is liquid.

            Orgasm racks your body, as it so often does under the expert fingerwork of your titanic sibling, from your hair to the tips of your toes. Just to ensure every drop of it is out of you, Carly’s finger continues to grind your dick against the pad of her palm for a few more seconds.

            When satisfied with your performance, Carly’s fingers drag one exhaustive time back up your body, stroking your cheek with her thumb, and leaves you to pant on her thigh.

            You peep up at her face above as it draws back again. Her finger, dampened by your seed, is pressed up against her pink lips, the barely noticeable trace of it sucked into her mouth and gulped down.

            “I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Carly says, raising her eyebrows. She always loves observing your recovery after a particularly effect cum.

            “Me too.”

            “Tell you what,” your sister croons, casting you another sly glance. “Mom says next weekend some of the family wants to do a trip to the mall. Grandma, Aunt Selena, Chloe, Sophie…”

            You can’t help but crack a smile.

            “…want to test this out again then?”

            “Yes,” you utter before she can finish the last syllable.

            “I hoped you’d say that,” she giggles. “It won’t be quite as good as just having you in a sock, but we’ll poke a little hole in the side, so you can hear what’s happening. I don’t want to leave you out, after all.”

            “Thank you.”

            “Of course, little bro.” Reaching over the edge of the bed and underneath, Carly briskly drags out a slung sack stuffed to the brim with dirty laundry. With her opposite hand, she plucks you at long last from her thigh. You hang limply, still a little tuckered after your games on her leg.

            “I’m gonna get us some food from the kitchen, and then I’ll be back in a little bit,” Carly explains as you dangle helplessly from her massive fingers. She plants a kiss on your chest before lowering you toward the opening in the fabric. “But I’ll give you some more time in the funhouse until I do.”

            Your mouth can’t help but water as Carly lowers you into the stuffed bag of crumpled shorts, yoga pants, tops, panties, bras, and socks, all twisted in a mélange of unwashed grit, sweat, and feminine BO, crystallized within the bag for your enjoyment and pleasure. The wall of pungent air acting as a historical record of Carly’s body wallops your senses before she even places you inside.

            Funhouse, indeed.

 

End Notes:

Please comment!

Chapter 7: Never Again by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

A younger Jack and Carly re-recall the moment she first discovered him tiny and helpless.

            “Good night, little bro,” Carly murmurs. Her lips hover an inch from your body, the warmth of her words coupled with the stickiness of her breath. Hot, wet air and the aroma of strawberry pie floods your senses as she leans over you in her bed. “Sleep tight.”

            “You too,” you answer as you snuggle into the purple sock chosen as your bed for this particular night on the bedside table. In the darkness, you lean up, until your face is planted into your enormous sister’s puckered lips.

            The kiss nearly sucks your head inside the cavernous maw, but loosens, until Carly is gently tonguing your face in full, slurping and pecking at your neck and chest. Heavenly, as always. The exchange of fluids is a given.

            Even after she’s pulled away from you with a last drag of her drool across your chest, you lie awake in the peaceful silence. The all-encompassing promise of that kiss laid upon you night after night means more than she could ever possibly know. Comfortable in yourself, and only more so with every passing day after your revelation a few months back, you drift into dreams truer to your subconscious than reality could ever be:

 

            Wind hits your face and knocks you down to the hardwood kitchen floor, flat on your back, as the upper torso of your gigantic fourteen-year-old sister rushes down from high in the air. You dry swallow, desperately trying to collect yourself. Before she can.

            The mammoth visage of Carly crouches right over you, her impossible scale now plainer than ever before, her billboard-sized face bearing down on you. Her smile quickly dissipates into a look of confusion and curiosity. A hand reaches up toward her face and, using fingers each longer than your body, swoops her hair out of her face to get a better look.

            “Carly!” you yell.

            Your sister’s face remains unchanged, staring down at you. Perhaps she’s in shock too. You wouldn’t blame her, either. It’s incredible what you can see from here. Even though Carly’s so young, at this size you can make out thin ghosts of laugh wrinkles formed around her eyes, the sheen of gloss coating her lips, the flicker of individual eyelashes. Through her partially opened mouth you can make out her ivory teeth, large and thick enough to chew apart a safe door. Every fiber of her skin on her cheeks and everywhere on her face is visible, moving ever so slightly as she inhales slowly.

            “Carly?” you repeat uncertainly, still scared. You blink a few times, then try to sit up, but realize you’re still surrounded in a puddle of rain, so you slip back down into the flat position on the ground, ramming your tailbone. You gulp a few times more. “Carly? It’s me. It’s Jack,” you say unintelligently.

            Carly’s lips move, reflecting light off her lip gloss. “Jack?” she gapes, and her mouth twists into a smile. It’s not a grin of victory and malice like normal, so that’s something.

            “Yeah…” you say, letting the word trail off.

            “What…” she starts to say, arching her eyebrows. She doesn’t finish her sentence.

            Out of the corner of your eye, you see her massive left hand rushing toward you. You flail your limbs for a moment, but it’s of no use. An instant later a wall of flesh is bearing down on you, her muscular fingers, almost as thick as your body, curling downward. Her palm, soft and cool, presses down onto your torso, burying your dick in the thickness of her hand flesh at your size. Her fingers slide with surprising gentleness around your arms and legs, curling back around and tightening. You feel a sense of security surrounding you as the wet, rainy ground underneath you is replaced with the cool, plush fingers of your massive sister, pressing into your back and legs with unexpected care.

            The ground falls away as you are lifted into the air, the comforting, smooth feeling of hand flesh pressed firmly but gently onto every square inch of your naked form. In spite of yourself, you almost want to fall asleep, so drastic was the change from freezing rain and mud to the comforting apparent safety of your sister’s hand.

            Your head swims as you rise higher and higher up into the stratosphere of the kitchen. Your eyes water at the sudden change in altitude. Clearing them, you find yourself at eye level with your sister, her hand still wrapped snugly around your body. Your breathing begins to slow, and your heart rate drops as you are almost instantly calmed by the comforting and evidently capable grip of your little sister.

            The staring match continues a little longer, your body temperature already regulating again as her fist begins to warm up, providing your frozen little form with heat from the massive generator of her gargantuan, skyscraper-like body.

            “C-C-Carly…” you say out loud, unsure of where to start. The explanation for what’s going on? The plea for her to get you medical attention? The suggestion that she ensure she hangs on to you tightly to avoid a death plunge? Your mind almost goes blank. Could there even exist a logical place to begin? You can’t help but sympathize with her constantly shifting expression.

            Carly’s eyes widen, her pupils dilating. Her smile widens, the few freckles surrounding her eyes and nose bobbing as she does so. “Jack… you’re… you’re… like, two inches tall!”

            “I… I know…”

            “What happened to you?”

            “I don’t know! Please, Carly… please. I need you to do something, call mom and dad, call the hospital. Something. I… don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you say finally, though, in spite of yourself, you can’t help but already imagine your current reality isn’t going to be altered much with the application of known science. Certainly not the science you know. Still, it seems rational to look for help somewhere.

            “Yeah, yeah, okay…” she mumbles. Air whips your face and you float a little in her hand as she takes a step, but then stops in her tracks. She turns her fist around again to look at you.

            “Now, wait a minute, Jack…” she says, as if all of this was completely natural.

            “What is it, Carly?”

            “Jack, let’s just slow down…”

            “Um.. s-sure,” you utter. In a past life: as in, perhaps fifteen minutes ago, your heart would’ve already been racing at the mere suggestion. Slow down? At a time like this? Has she lost her mind? But something in your heart tells you to take pause instead of scream.

            “Jack…” she drawls, swallowing a lump in her throat. Her fingers turn about you as she pulls you nearer to her face.

            “P-Please be careful,” you croak, growing fearful again despite the fact that you have physical safety in Carly’s now-warm fist.

            “I will,” she promises, and somehow, you believe her. Carly tilts her head a little, pursing her lips in quiet thought, cocking her eyebrows as she studies you. “Are you all right?”

            “Carly, look at me,” you mumble. “I’m tiny. I don’t know what’s wrong and we have to do… something!”

            “Okay, okay. Calm down. We’ll do… something…” Her words are so steady and soothing, even in this moment of bizarre crisis. It’s tempting to go along with it.

            “Okay. T-Thank you.”

            “Of course,” she states. Carly’s broad lips crack a smile as she examines your miniature face peeping out of her soft fist. “What, you think I’m not going to help my brother?”

            “I d-didn’t know…” you admit sheepishly, the shame of your past sins all coming to call at once. And in a much smaller body, no less, with nowhere to store the guilt but on your face.

            You blackmailed the girl over a cell phone picture. That’s an elephant in the room that can’t be helping matters now, even though at this size, to you, Carly looks like she could punt an elephant across the county with just one swing of her bare foot.

            “You mean cuz of earlier?” she questions dryly. “The stuff you made me do?”

            “Y-Yeah,” you gulp, unsure how to proceed without making a misstep, especially with so much at stake. “I don’t really know what to say.”

            She shrugs, her fingers rewrapping themselves around you. It’s almost to remind you her digits still have your life clasped into her clammy palm, your legs and arms pinned to your sides, and your dick wedged shamefully into the crevice between her finger flesh.

            “Why don’t you try?” she suggests.

            “Okay. Okay,” you sigh. That seems reasonable, though you don’t have the first clue of where to start still. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Carly. Like, I’m really, really fucking sorry.”

            Her eyes bulge at your dropping of that linguistic bomb, her fingers trembling and lips drawing open.

            “…and I’m sorry to say that in front of you like that, but like, I don’t care, because… I’m just… ugh. I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

            “You took advantage of me,” Carly points out meekly. Her voice displays surprising vulnerability for a girl who has her older brother squeezed shrunken and naked in the palm of her hand at this particular moment, but it’s there nonetheless.

            “I did. And… it probably doesn’t sound right coming from me, now, when I obviously need… someone to do something,” you say. You clear your throat, at last finding the grain of genuine feeling you required in all of this madness. Your voice cracks with the raw honesty of putting your discoveries out in the air, but you soldier on. “I realize I’m asking you to take care of me, when… I didn’t take care of you earlier. And whether or not you want to forgive me for that now, all I’m saying is I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart.”

            The crystalline blue in your giant sister’s eyes seems almost to twinkle. Not with the usual scheming you recognize in them when she’s about to stick your homework down the garbage disposal or plant her cold bare foot on your cheek. Rather, you see a spark of something just as genuine as what you’re pouring out.

            Though you’ve always looked upon the girl as a kid, and indeed, she was one a mere two years before, but somehow, in this instant, you don’t see her as the tweenage brat any more. Maybe it’s the previously unobserved details in her face, maybe it’s her sheer damn scope, but whatever it is, it’s allowing your pulse to lower back to normal for the first time since the bolt of lightning reduced you to this diminutive joke of an organism.

            Wrong as everything feels, in this precise moment, you feel a dramatic sense of calm as you’re clenched naked and helpless into your younger sibling’s palm. Perhaps like none you’ve ever felt before.

            With a start, you feel her powerful fingers shifting around your back, her plush flesh smushing as it brushes across your bare backside. You’re repositioned until your body is flushed against Carly’s palm, exposed as her fingers slide away and draw you closer to her face.

            You’re shocked, certainly, but not altogether displeased as the teen’s moist lips are shoved into your entire face. Kiss after kiss is laid on your head, rapidfire, her wet mouth pulling away just as soon as it’s there and stringing saliva across your neck.

            When at last the pecking session is through, Carly pulls away, wiping the hair from her forehead, and you realize that twinkle in her blue eyes has turned to the glisten of a tear.

            You can tell a wall is being torn down now between you. You’re seeing a version of her you’ve never witnessed before. And it’s not just because she’s large enough to pop you in her mouth like a sour patch kid.

            “Thank you,” she breathes. “For saying all that, Jack.”

            “Well, I meant every word. You don’t have to believe me now, but-”

            “I want to,” she says earnestly.

            “Good,” you insist. “Listen, I’m not saying… it’s all your fault, but we do… go after each other a lot. For… I see now, for stupid things. Things that made sense maybe when we were like six years old, but not now. And I’m sorry, too, for my part in that,” you continue, selecting every word carefully and placing it with singular assurance into your delicate sentences.

            For a moment you just observe one another, seeing each other in new lights well beyond the mere novelty of now being a colossus-and-cricket by comparison to one another. Carly wipes a knuckle over her damp eyes, forcing on another smile even warmer than the last.

            “Sorry about… um…” she sighs, wrinkling her nose as she looks upon your full exposed body in her palm for perhaps the first time since she picked you up. Looking down, you realize just how much moisture she slaked across your head during the thankful kisses, as the goop trickles down your neck and chest. Her eyes boggle wider.

            “Right,” you choke, cringing up and throwing your hands over your crotch for the first time. An especially thick drop of  her lip gloss-tainted drool seeps down the bridge of your nose. “Don’t worry about it.”

            “You’re, um…” Carly mutters. With her free hand, she prods at the corner of her mouth. “You’re naked.”

            “Y-Yeah,” you cough, more humiliated now than you were during the initial panic, now that the basics of human reconciliation are in motion. “Sorry about that. My clothes… sort of fell off when this… happened.”

            “It’s okay,” she says, a little quicker than either of you was expecting. There’s that half-smile in the corner of her lip again as her gaze flashes between your puny legs. Is that amusement? “I don’t mind.”

            “G-Good,” you say, breathless now. Somehow it feels less imperative you keep your hands in place over your nethers, though you do it anyway, to maintain some level of social normalcy. “S-So… maybe we should… um… call somebody about this, or-”

 “No,” comes Carly’s voice at last, gentle and knowing.

Something inside your skull is changing at a molecular level. A deep subconscious part of you wants to lash out at her: the part that couldn’t see her as anything more than a fourteen-year-old bitch yesterday. You’re in a potentially life threatening position and she’s locked into her smug self-assurance as ever.

Yet you’re still not moved to act. The wilderness of whatever curtain of reality you’re both peeking behind now is almost beyond your comprehension, and you can’t even sum up the words.

“Oh.” It’s all you can manage.

Around your helpless form, you feel the warm, creamy walls of flesh shifting yet again. You suck in your stomach and convulse your muscles instinctively as your sister’s fingers begin to compress in on you, expecting at an animal level for the pressure to build.

But it doesn’t. The cushy pad of flesh surrounding her palm and fingers press inward, giving way to the robust and pulsing muscles of Carly’s fingers, but not so much that they inflict pain or even discomfort. You moan audibly in weariness and tension release, her fingers softening and flexing as your naked form leans into the pad of her palm. Despite yourself, you can feel your member being tugged between Carly’s middle and fourth fingers, into the fleshy space, and tingling in warning before it firms.

Though the angle is awkward, you catch a smile pinching the corners of her mouth. Her fingers grind just a little faster than before, so easily allowing you to hump two of her fingers without it seeming like anything more than a result of crossing distance. Is she… on purpose?

“You’re shaking,” Carly notes as she pads evenly into the living room and lowers herself daintily onto the couch, apparently cognizant of your wellbeing on every step. “Are you afraid of me?”

“I… I was. When I first saw you,” you admit with a swallow. You gaze up at her face in what you soon realize is yearning. For her, this moment, and everything it represents to have your helpless little body plastered between her firm fingers and still have it all feel so content. “But not now.”

 “You’re never going to have to feel like that again. Afraid, I mean,” she says, and the hairs on your body stand on end as you watch a loving smile cross her long lips. “Never again, little boy,” she adds kindly, and the words “little boy” falling naturally from her mouth and just as naturally into your ears. It feels comfortable, somehow. Correct, if ever anything ever was.

If there really is a God, you suppose you now have the most definitive proof in human history that he works in mysterious ways.

 

End Notes:

Please comment!

If this oddball flashback felt familiar, it's because it's another major variation on the fourth chapter from the original Blackmail, had things gone differently.

Chapter 8: Who Wears the Shoes by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

Carly and Jack aim for a personal record for most orgasms under her feet in a single day.

            “Five,” you heave gracelessly as you send another load into the squishy void. Your clammy limbs flail momentarily in the darkness before being pinned back beneath the mammoth weight of Carly’s colossal toes again.

            It’s been a long time coming; it’s taken you the better part of a half hour to coax another orgasm out, considering how tricky it’s been to get a grip on your erection in the pounding pitch-black and disorienting pressure-cooker space. Your aching member begins to wilt almost immediately following this latest jacking against the velvety, gridded underside of your giant sister’s foot. Gulping for air, your heart pounding mightily in your tiny chest, you let your face fade back into the crevice between the girl’s titanic big and second toes, letting the fleshy grooves massage you back into coherency.

            Her digits are only too happy to reciprocate, hugging you into the fray. Again and again you’re mashed up against the bucking ceiling of doughy toes until at last she claps you down against the base of the shoe again. You know what it means, of course. There’s nothing you can move but your neck and your jaws. Opening your mouth and pressing it against the undulating mass of feminine skin is the only choice.

            So you lick. Tongue lapping obediently at the curved wall of sticky, salted flesh, you feel your lungs steadily refilling with her humid air after the exertion. No doubt about it, you can’t beat the workout you get from these “assignments” Carly gives you every morning before lovingly laying you down in the mushy insole of her shoes and clobbering you into the corner with her incredibly sociable toes, all squirming and wrestling for the opportunity to dominate your hapless body.

            She’s going to be disappointed. Not mad, certainly, never mad anymore, but disappointed, which is quite possibly the worst outcome you could experience in her presence.

            Your sister deserves nothing less than to be the happiest owner in the world.

 

            Carly’s chosen the single-occupancy restroom with its blindingly lime-green tile and startling low echo effect to remove you from her shoe for a break.

            This place is normally reserved for staff, but virtually never used: a favorite resting place for Carly during the day when the dormitories are far off and she feels like checking on you. You’ve come to enjoy the little rests, watching the laugh lines in her adorable, enormous face creasing at the sight of your nearly three-inch nude body coming back into the light. It usually takes a minute for you to adjust to the blaring glow after so long in the darkness, but it’s always worth it to see the look on her face.

            She genuinely is happy to see you, just as you are her, and you can’t say you often see that look in her eyes gifted to anyone else in the world, at least not on accident. That joy is reserved for you, and you alone.

            Is there anyone luckier in the entire universe?

            “Well?” Carly queries cheerfully as she brandishes you between her thumb and forefinger, letting your exhausted body drape gratefully over her firm digits. She massages your back with her pinky, digging at the soft knots formed after your excursion. “How many times did you cum?”

            “F-Five,” you announce, unable to hide the trace of shame from crossing your voice, in spite of your excitement to see her again.

            “Five?” she repeats back, blinking in puzzlement. Her fingers open up, allowing you to tumble back into the soft awaiting palm below, where you become splayed out, as if spreading a snow angel into the expansive plain of tanned skin. You notice those oceanic baby blues squinting, zeroing in on your weary junk, examining for potential problems.

            “Uh-huh,” you gulp.

            “Is something the matter?” she says with obvious deep concern etched into her forehead as she draws back again. Her lower lip puffs up and curls into her teeth as she thoughtfully chews it. “Yesterday you had eight by this time. It’s lunchtime already.”

            “I know,” you grumble, bowing your head and shutting your eyes as you allow the cool, sterile air of the bathroom to wash over your overheated skin.

            “Is my little bro’s cute little cock getting tired already, hmm?” Carly’s thumb appears over the crest of her palm. Delicately she dips under your pitiful dick and props it against her finger for a better look.

            “A… a tiny bit, y-yeah. I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be sorry,” Carly chuckles, shaking her head. A few wisps of that luscious golden hair sweep over your chest from on high. “I know I’ve been using you a lot like this lately… what, the last three days?”

            “Four,” you correct, a dumb grin unavoidably crossing your face.

            “That’s a lot of time fucking my pretty toesies, isn’t it, little bro?”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “Yes it is,” she confirms in that cutesy-baby voice she so enjoys using on you. It used to be a sign of condescension, to remind you how little you had become, but now it just feels more like a precious reminder of who’s wearing the shoes in this relationship.

            “I don’t mind,” you gulp. Grimacing, you shoot a glance to your tired member, still undergoing a gentle prodding by Carly’s enormous thumb. A shudder shoots up your spine, in spite of yourself, at the direct attention paid it. A few millimeters of adjustment allows Carly’s skin to grind up the length of your rod, and you can feel it reacting again, lengthening, no matter how sorely.

            How typical. Then again, given Carly’s voracious appetite for sexual offerings, you’re probably better off having such an eager libido.

            “Maybe we should take a break from going around like this, huh? Maybe I’ll just stick you in my purse,” she suggests as she feels your member shivering under her finger, flashing you a wink. She presses her digit down flush against your dick. “I can reach in and fiddle with you the whole class period. Wouldn’t you like that?”

            Tempting as it is to imagine your gigantic sister’s twinkling eyes and broad, smirking lips filling up the zippered barrier from within her purse, followed by probing fingers arcing in to clutch you by the balls and overcome the boredom of a class lecture, you don’t want her to be making concessions for you. Not when you’ve come this far.

            “P-Please?” you beg softly just as Carly’s hand begins to shift down toward her deposited handbag. “Please give me another chance?”

            “I don’t know how you’re expecting to get that many more out when you’re only at five by now…” Carly sighs with a forgiving shrug, furrowing her brow in continued befuddlement at the exceptionally low number. The pink blush of her lips flows from one end to the other as she nibbles the opposite corner in contemplation. “Maybe I’m expecting too much. You’re just a little boy, after all.”

            “I know,” you say. You wrap your hands around your sister’s gigantic finger as it continues rhythmically kneading your crotch. Warmth floods just beneath your skin.

            Carly chuckles, ruffling your hair with a finger on the opposite side of her expansive palm as she lets you hug her thumb. Her chin tilts lower down toward you until her hot breath steams against your skin, collecting in her cupped hand. You’re surrounded on all sides by stroking fingers and your sister’s titanic lips.

            “Tell you what,” she whispers soothingly. The tip of her tongue laps out from the corner of her lip and drags a line of saliva along the lower rim. “I’ve got a compromise.”

            “Compromise?”

            “Mm-hmm,” she hums mischievously. “I’ve been expecting you to do all the work yourself, when you’re down there in between my toes and you can’t see or hear anything. I think I owe you a little help now.”

            “S-Sure,” you huff, your breath getting shallower already as Carly continues teasingly squeezing at your minute cock. The little thing, even fully erect, is swallowed up at embarrassingly proportion by the pads of your sister’s loving fingers.

            “But not yet,” she giggles, abruptly releasing her gentle grip on your junk. Your body sags almost immediately in her palm, pre-emptively disappointed.

            “Okay,” you grunt. It takes a second of readjustment to avoid feeling the painful tug of blue balls.

            “I’ll talk to you after lecture,” she says with a wink. A final tousle of your shaggy hair and you’re being lowered in Carly’s caged fingers back down toward the sickly green tile floor. Her foot writhes inside her shoe until her heel breaks free with a quiet pop. The girl’s sole arches up, beautiful wrinkles glinting off the bright reflection of the floor, while her toes press up from the bottom, creating just enough space for you to be wedged inside.

            And wedged inside, you are.

 

            A shift. Your sister’s damp sole flesh peels away from your body.

            Light leaks into the cramped, sweaty habitat of Carly’s shoe sooner than you were expecting. Is her class already over? The glow isn’t quite as dim as the lamp in your sister’s dorm. It fills in the soft creases of her steadily arching foot, shadow and dark peach. You’re mesmerized, as always, by the chance to witness this dance of her skin, and she knows it. She’s inviting you for a closer look.

            Pinned as you are beneath her toes, you can pull yourself just far enough in this newfound space to get a front-row seat to the show, until most of your body is hunkered under the ball of her foot.

            No fingers come in to collect you, though, as they usually do. Nor does Carly’s foot begin to slink out of its muggy prison, with your naked body clamped between her toes.

            That’s when you hear the voices. A distant, droning timbre rambling through the finer details of a sports psychology textbook. Nearer, the whisper of younger voices under breath. Scribbles of pencils. Tapping of keyboards. The clack of fingernails touching phone screens under the table and out of view of the professor.

            Your heart leaps into your throat. She’s still in class! Carly’s pulling your foot away from the shoe, and she’s still out in the open! Her heel’s risen high enough now that if someone were to, say, lay on the floor and glance in the direction of her playful peds bouncing in the shoes which, frankly, is what you would be doing if you suddenly flashed back to normal size, they would probably see you. They’d see a nearly three-inch nude boy: sleepy, mildly aroused, and painted in layers of his sister’s gummy sweat.

            Rapidly you try to crawl backwards, seeking shelter under your sibling’s marvelous dabbing toes, but you’re not allowed. Another shift. Her toes flatten at the tip. The ball of Carly’s foot is still poised over your torso, and she applies just enough pressure to keep you pinned. You feel your back sinking into the soggy basin of the insole while your sister flushes you under the rotund weight of her foot.

            What is she doing? At least most of your body is hidden under her foot where it belongs, but your head is still visible. Luckily, the floating shadows of her continually arching sole conceal your face for the most part, but every few seconds, light shines over your head.

            You’re exposed, even if only slightly. Vulnerable to the average human beings out there, fully dressed and fully sized, with their own lives and agendas, having their desires only occasionally taken care of while never catering to the needs of something greater than themselves.

            You can’t help but feel sad for them all. It must be a staggeringly pointless existence.

            As if to drive home the point of your pondering, Carly’s toes move again. They squirm, expertly rummaging your legs underneath them until you have a leg splayed under your sister’s mammoth second and third toes. As usual, all you have to do is remain still and comply.

            With the continued sliver of a risk playing tricks with your vision beyond, the sight of your sibling’s hot sole buckling above, Carly’s toes grasp your dick in between with the most impossibly soft touch.

            An airless gasp slips through your lips at the tingling contact that so adeptly strokes the slender walls of Carly’s practiced toes along your member. She doesn’t give you a rest; again, the canyon of slick female flesh coddles your dick. An erection sprouts up within four passes.

            She was right. All you needed was a little help.

            With this change-up in the pattern, granting you not only fresh air but he heart-pounding fear of being discovered mixed with your own mounting arousal, it doesn’t take long. You spurt into the deep crevice of her toes, careful not to let too loud of a sigh out.

            A pause. Carly’s toes separate as far as they can, splayed out and rubbing down on your bare legs as she grants your cock a reprieve. Aching and bursting with sensations, you huff the sweet-and-sour air emanating from her sole above. On its next dip, you stick out your tongue and lap up a fresh line. Her toes scrunch in thanks around you, but remain steady.

            Forty-three. Forty-four. Forty-five seconds, and with a start, Carly’s toes collide with such force and still scientific focus around your dick. After so many years and so many games, she knows precisely when you become useful again.

            The masturbation is more fervent this time. While the last was just a warm-up, coyly coaxing your sixth orgasm of the day, she means business now. You can feel the shoe rocking up and down now, powered by the tips of her toes, even while two of them remain wrapped around your microscopic member. They work faster now, and even if you felt tired a moment ago, your body doesn’t quite agree. It’s standing at attention again with the minute.

            The ball of her foot hammers down against your torso now, compressing the air in and out of your lungs, pumping and controlling your already heavy breaths. But you trust her, and know she understands exactly what she’s doing. She can play you like a harp. If anything, this will help, timing your exhalations with the thrusts of her toes. Her heel bobs against the mouth of the shoe.

            Another countdown. You can feel she’s eager to continue this time, her toes twitching as they play at your thighs, itching to clamp back around your crotch. Sweat is running in rivulets down your back, while fresh supplies trickle down the gorgeous creases continually folding and flexing above you in Carly’s sole. The drops wash over your face and through your dry lips, tempting you with their spice, tainted by only the lightest of strawberry lotion flavors while the rest of it is pure flesh and salt: ragged, animal essence of your sister’s godlike body.

            Your body shudders. The seventh climax comes more quickly than any of the others today.

            The awful forty-five second break ends with aplomb as you feel the toes closing back around your already rising member. The ridges of Carly’s sole meet your head as she seals you back inside the shoe this time, happily mashing your face between sticky insole and blushing skin. It’s impossible not to plant a hard kiss on her flesh every time it massages into your head while her toes swallow up your cock. Number eight is fast approaching, and you doubt your sister will be finished with you after that.

            The both of you just might break the record today after all.

 

End Notes:

Please comment!

Chapter 9: Heaven or Bathwater (Part 1) by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

The Artons share a bath together, as well as a few other new experiences. Part 1.

            Your head swims and spins in alternate directions. The ground winds at infinite distance below. Steam clings to your skin, a warm film creeping over your every desperate inch.

            “Such a dirty little boy.”

            Blood rushing to your head, you peep blearily upward to your upside-down dangled legs, pinched so precariously between Carly’s thumb and middle finger. The pads of her digits grind in soft circles, never losing the firm anchor point on your ankles. Even so, you can feel the tug of gravity in contest with your giant sister.

            But you know who’s going to win.

            The same one who always wins.

            “Aren’t you?”
            Your attention swirls back around to the mid-distance behind you as Carly’s fingers adjust. She turns you around. That angelic face grins with her usual triumph, her blue eyes wide enough to swallow your head. Though her hair is tied back in a messy tail, the stray strands laid across her forehead do nothing to distract you from keeping her gaze. Her eyes are below you as she dangles you upside down and so far above the earth, but height and even space mean almost nothing to you in this position. To you, Carly is simply there, controlling your every fiber and preventing you from tumbling to your doom.

            “Huh?” you mumble.

            The usual girlish giggle. It never fails to make you tingle in your bones. Your sister caresses her lips with the fingers of her free hand, studying you.

            “I said you’re a dirty little boy. And you are, aren’t you?”
            Drunken from your inverted stance, you clumsily nod.

            “Is big sissy making you dizzy?” she teases.

            “A little,” you say.

            “Everything about you is always “a little,” isn’t it, Jackie-poo?” Carly asks.

            “P-Pretty much,” you agree, awkwardly finding the words. Even your tongue is getting loopy.

            “But that’s the way we like it, isn’t it?” she questions, finding the sultry note in a rhetorical statement as she always does. Her lips part, extending nearer to your exposed, dangling body. “Isn’t it?”
            “Yes.”

            “Yeah it is,” she affirms. “But still. Even little boys can still be dirty boys. Which is what you are right now. Little and dirty.”

            “Pretty much.”

            Carly’s pinky finger reaches closer to you, the tip of it stroking along your inner thigh and down to your waistline.

            “Why do you think that is, little bro?”

            “Uhh… probably from being in your sock every day this week without a bath.”

            Carly nods and gently rolls her eyes in false recognition, as if she’d forgotten this fact up until this precise second. She pats her palm against her cheek: a joking penance.

            “Ohhh, right. Of course. Of course, of course you did,” your enormous sibling concurs. Her tongue laps at the corner of her full lips, and her voice drops at least half an octave into a velvet whisper. “And believe me, you’re gonna be in there for every day of next week, too. Cuz you did too good a job this week.”

            “Thank you,” you breathe.

            “You’re welcome, little bro,” she says back. Her head tilts forward, her mouth puckered and glistening to receive. She smothers your lower body in a gooey kiss, the very tip of her muscular tongue taunting your helplessly dwarfed dick. Carly draws this out for nearly a whole agonizingly mesmerizing minute.

            As she pulls away, strings of saliva dribble down your body, finding their way to your head as always.

            “But before we get there,” she sighs. “We’re gonna get you nice and squeaky-clean. So big sissy can play with you all over again. Would you like that?”
            “Yes, please,” you peep, now painted in Carly’s hot spit after her make-out with the bottom half of your body. You can feel the blood rushing in confused directions all around your body, unsure whether to obey gravity and fall to your head or obey the mind-melding blessing of Carly’s sumptuous lips and rise to your dick. It’s a serious predicament for your various bodily systems to work out.

            “But I’m not just gonna lick you off. I mean, I will, too, but not just that. Cuz then we’d just be cats, wouldn’t we?” Carly giggles.

            “Makes sense,” you agree mutely. Who are you not to vote the same as whatever comes out of that heavenly mouth, when it’s always so good to you?

            “Now,” she sighs. “I could just rinse you off in the sink, and we can get back to where we were before right away.” She licks her lips again, puckering them into the geometry of another kiss.

            You nod. That sounds good to you.

            “But I thought maybe we’d try a little something different today,” she says. At last, she lowers you down from your dangled position into her waiting opposite palm. “So we’re not using the sink.”

            It’s hard not to raise an eyebrow at this. Carly’s creative, certainly, as you can attest by counting up the physical games that number in the thousands by variety from over the years, but you also know just as well that your sister is loyal to her favorite routines. Bathing you is generally treated as a quick and efficient necessity.

            Sure, it was a bit different the first time Carly truly “washed” you the day of your shrinking after trampling you beneath her toes for a few hours, when her fingers first delicately explored your every nook and cranny, coaxing the first accidental orgasm out of your abused form. And while hundreds upon hundreds of intentional ones have followed after that, given that you’re always as exposed as when you’re taking a bath, the normal significance of the scenario for duos isn’t quite as pronounced between the pair of you. Why spend time splashing around in the suds, after all, when you could just as easily be splashing around in your sister’s warm, gooey saliva?

            It’s simple logic, really.

            “What’re we doing?” you question, regaining some sense of orientation now that you’re right-side up once again.

            “I thought we’d… what’s the phrase? Kill two birds with one stone?” Carly comments with her usual sense of playful withholding, as though she was discovering the words as they came to her, which you know can’t possibly be true. She presses a finger to her lips one final time, her blue eyes growing bright, and then she sets to work.

            You wait, humbled beyond belief, as Carly carries out the simplest of actions as though it were a religious ritual. Now that both of you are home for summer now, you know neither of your parents will be in the house for hours, leaving the space entirely at your sister’s disposal. Carrying you in her flat palm, she pads across the cool bathroom tile, her bare soles sticking gently to the surface along the way. She passes up on both the sink and glassed in shower, though, for the old bathtub, regal and gleaming with its bronze-pronged feet. Her powerful fingers grasp and twist effortlessly on the hot and cold taps until a steaming deluge is filling up the basin.

            It’s not just you getting a bath. It’s both of you.

            “Why waste the water, right, little bro?” Carly whispers throatily once she realizes she has your attention. You turn just in time to snag another sultry wink and then a kiss on the side of your head that sops your hair with her juices again.

            You hardly notice the undressing; you’ve felt emotionally naked with her for so long, it feels more natural than anything. She’s not wearing much already, given the high temperatures, but in a few tugs of her free thumb, her cut-off shorts and tight tank top are pulled away. She does it all without even putting you down, allowing you to travel through the shifting baby-blue tunnel of her shirt as she lifts you above her head. A click of a hook and the thump of fabric on the ground, following by the swish of straps rolled around Carly’s mighty thighs, and it’s all gone. The obstructions lie in a flowing heap around her ankles.

            Your goddess, naked as the day she was created, her muscular curves glistening with the rising steam of the bathwater, smiling so benevolently at you that it could almost be a wet dream.

            But it’s no dream. It hasn’t been for a long time.

            “Well…” she murmurs privately into your ear, her warm breath sticky on the inside of your ear. “…shall we?”

            “Please,” you beg softly in a single syllable. The yearning in your throat is palpable. It’s impossible to peel your eyes away from the sight of her: every tanned inch toned and sculpted by hours of work and play, every square inch dedicated to controlling your existence and making it pure. Her breasts, perhaps the only truly “modest” part of Carly’s body by comparison, still make for immense dunes below, her nipples already hardening in the steamy atmosphere up here.

            “Then why don’t you tell me how the water is?” she chuckles.

            The majestic, bronzed tower of Carly’s bared body bows down over the porcelain rim of the tub. The water level, now risen up nearly to the shallowest end, churns smoothly with the lingering ripples from the crashing faucet. Her fingers cage briefly around you as her arm dips toward the warm pond, and then her palm tips, surprising you. Your mild shock is fleeting, though, as your roll off your sister’s inviting palm and plop into the water a mere six inches below.

            For just a few bizarre instants, you’re submerged in the blurred void of the water. You dare to open your eyes, treading in place as you orient yourself to the glow of the bathroom lights above. Through the lingering ripples from your tiny plunge, light refracting through the rotating pool, you can still easily make her out. Carly’s glorious body, highlighted against the backdrop of the ceiling in a blurred halo. You can’t quite make out the features of her face from down here below the water, but you can certainly trace the line up the terrain of her sturdy thighs, the rippled cliffside of her abdomen, the curves of her breasts, and the flowing mane of her hair as she lets it down around her shoulders. Standing defiantly above you in your miniature world of water, watching over you.

            She is your Deity, now and forever. There’s no other way around it.

            Able to withstand the wait no longer, you swim for the surface. Cresting through the shifting meniscus of the drawn bath, you’re just in time to wipe the water from your eyes and watch the cascading visage of Carly’s massive bare sole descending on you. She’s getting in. And she’s smiling. You only just have time to let your vision wander past the perfectly curved end of her heel, up her impressively jutting calves, and along the underside of her thigh toward the place where the sun, at least on her, most certainly shines. A second later, her toes crash head-long into your body, submerging you once again with a forceful splash.

            You’re dragged far deeper into the water than on your initial entry. Per their usual practice, Carly’s toes wrestle your limbs into the fleshy wedges between each digit. Just how both of you like it. You’re hopelessly leg-locked, your cheek squeezed to the doughy tip of her big toe as her entire foot carries you deeper and deeper into the tub. All around you is simply grooved sole muscle and torrents of steamy tub water. Through the rush of bubbles, you can make out the white floor of it getting nearer and nearer, jumping your heart into your throat.

            Expertly, though, Carly’s heel catches her foot first, allowing her toes to hover a few inches above the bottom, still with you clenched lovingly in her digits. As you knew she would. Another rush of bubbles beyond where you’ve come to rest results in another monument joining your sunken state as your sister steps fully into the bath and lowers her entire naked form down into its depths.

            You’re relieved of the crushing blue as both of your sibling’s feet glide along the curved walls of the tub, meeting up at the opposite end and drawing you up out of it. Wheezing only briefly for air, you recompose, knowing Carly would never have held you down there longer than you could handle it. Already you’re growing colder with exposure to the open air after those long, winding seconds of your sister standing on you in the warm water. Longingly, you wrap your arms around Carly’s big and second toes, gleaning warmth from her slick skin.

            “Looks like somebody’s getting the idea already,” Carly giggles as she rests her head back against opposite corner of the long tub, stretching her six-foot frame out to its full and glorious mass. Her toes grind playfully around you, the digits of her other foot crossing over and joining in. She passes you between each of her feet, her supple toes taking turns spreading you out and hugging you into the squishy folds of flesh for heat.

            Like islands, her knees bob just above the surface of the water, before the insistent hills of her breasts rise up again from the water further beyond. You’re fairly certain you could spend days watching the stray droplets of water running lazily down the nape of her neck, over the generous curve of her engorged tits, and into the valley that waits between.

            “You could say that,” you mumble gratefully as your arms and legs are grappled between Carly’s left and right big toes, leaving your humorously tiny, erect member exposed between.

            “I could say anything I want to you,” your goddess of a sister reminds you, eying your pathetic prize between your legs as she brandishes you between her toes. “For example, right now I’m saying come to me and say a nice big thank-you to your big sissy for keeping you so clean.”

 

End Notes:

I'm so going to hell for this entire story.

Please comment!

Chapter 10: Heaven or Bathwater (Part 2) by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

The Artons share a bath together, as well as a few other new experiences. Part 2.

            You’ve had dreams like this. You’re sure of it. Hell, if you’re being honest with your twisted subconscious, you could probably say you had visions like this even before you shrunk and took your rightful place as Carly’s possession. It’s ethereal, almost mythic in its truthfulness to your being.

            And you wouldn’t want to be anything else in the universe than right here, right now.

            You’re swimming, having been gently released from the fleshy vice of Carly’s toes. Just a gentle forward dog paddle, befitting of your place as a pet to this holy being that surrounds you on all sides. Before you in the vast expanse of the gleaming bathtub is your sister’s bare body, half of it resting idly beneath the surface of the deep water, the other half rising above, a tangible measure of your progress across the pond.

            This bath with Carly is an ecosystem unto itself. Right now, you’re still between the broad valley formed by her legs on either side. A lagoon of those muscular calves and sculpted thighs. The closer you swim to her body, the nearer below the dark surface you can just make out her cleanly shaven womanhood, rippling under the water as she stirs the surface with a finger on the opposite end. You can practically feel its warmth radiating out from under the water, pricking up the hair on your arms as you push forward.

            There will be a day for that. When Carly lets you know. And not before.

            You pass delicately into the thinned space between your sister’s immense legs. She’s parted them just wide enough for you to make landing on her hips. And you do, softly sputtering as you crawl up the damp, stiff field of your sister’s stomach. Even as her torso ascends and descends in time with her breath, you can feel the rigid reams of muscle that make up her packed abdomen. The sinewy memory of every crunch and every plank, programmed into a belly so strong that it could destroy you if it twisted and turned in just the right ways. A soft, lyrical gurgle emanates from inside your sister’s flat tummy.

            “C’mon,” she whispers. Her finger curls, beckoning you forward. “I didn’t say take a break, did I?”

            “Nope.”

            “You’ll get a rest when you get up here to say thank you.”

            And so you crawl. The trek gets trickier as a slight angle imparts into the curvature of Carly’s torso, her entire body still slicked with steam and water. It sweats against your fingertips as you press each of your palms into the forgiving terrain of your sister’s flesh. Every shift of your knees and hands grants you new gifts of warmth and pulse from the living environment that is Carly’s body, exposed to you in full and all at once for the first time.

            You arrive at her breasts. They wouldn’t be much taller than you if you were standing before this altar of flesh, but you can’t stand, lest you slide back into the water, which you assume is partially by design on Carly’s part. Instead you remain prostrated before them, watching the dappled skin of each nipple take surer form in her anticipation.

            “C’mon,” she says. “Say thank-you.”

            You nod, placing tentative hands on the inner walls that form the jiggly valley of Carly’s boobs. By propping your knees and forearms into the doughy masses, you manage to get just enough leverage to clamber up the middle of those twin hills. Just when it seems like you won’t quite achieve an angle high enough to climb atop, Carly’s hands come together, joining her elbows, and her breasts are mushed together as well. You’re popped like a loose pebble upon her left breast, instinctively throwing your hand over her nipple to keep yourself steady.

            She giggles, her lukewarm breath cutting through the fog of rising steam from the bath. The skin of this holy teat hardens beneath your fingers. Tiny, delicate goose bumps reacting chemically to your touch. Encouraged, you give it a squeeze as you carefully reposition yourself to crouch above the peak of her breast. Only a squeeze at first, then a ripple of your digits, digging your thumb in and massaging from one end of your knuckles to the other, balling the firm hillock of flesh into your palm. Your member, still stiff from your rubbing-over between her toes beyond, dangles low enough to brush the prominent mound of her nipple. Both your rod and your goddess’s areola quiver at this first contact.

            “Trying to tickle me, little bro?” she coos.

            “That was an accident,” you admit coolly. You lower yourself yet further, circling both legs around the center of the rotund, comparatively pale hill.

            “Well, that counts as a hello. But I’m still waiting on a thank-you.”

            You nod, dipping your chin down above her rosy nipple. Your lips meet the studded surface and kiss it, pleased with the moisture of the bath combined with its heat making for a peck as soft and inviting as Carly’s lips usually are while enveloping your whole body. Your tongue darts out against her skin, essentially without prompting.

            “There we go,” Carly says. Her jaw droops open, savoring your tasting.

            “Here we go,” you repeat back in the same tone. You dip again, this time opening your jaws and taking in as much of her nipple as you can. It doesn’t take much of it to completely fill your mouth, the plush bead of her luscious skin inflating against your cheeks as it perks up yet higher. Your tongue is in overdrive, drawing circles around it and testing its bulbous heft against the back of your teeth. What portion of her nipple you can’t take into your mouth, you busily tend to with your fingertips, teasing and tracing lines just around the base of it.

            Her heartbeat pounds from below.

            A singsong moan dribbles out of Carly’s mouth just beyond. She huffs quietly, feeling the pattern. You smile, sinking your teeth into the shallow give of her skin and nibbling. Her goose bumps spread lower, across the entire dune of her breast, giving you better grounding upon her. Again spurred onward, you attempt some new tricks. Then again, everything now is new. She’s never put you this close before.

            You dig your teeth into the base of Carly’s nipple, then work your way up, planting your incisors softly into the fleshy knoll at various points until you reach the tip. When you do, you dig your tongue against the cusp, circling and prodding, savoring the sensation of it sinking into the terrain.

            Carly gasps at the entrance of your tongue into her nipple. Her lyrical surprise quickly drops an octave into a blissful moan. The entire length of her body shifts in the bath, sinking deeper into the water, until the water runs up her torso, but your place on the island of her breast keeps you from being submerged.

            You’re on your knees now, your hands cupped around her nipple and filling your mouth again, intercutting with an aggressive chomp from your teeth or a flutter of your tongue, just to keep her guessing. Almost every time seems to surprise her. Gradually her gasps come out only as low slurred wails. Her head is lolled back against the curved rim of the tub, her dishwater hair unfurled in golden streams and plastered on the perspiring porcelain.

            A shadow falls. Her hand is above you, her fingers trembling with indecision at what to do with your worshipful body. Eventually she plants the grooved pad of her pointer finger against your shoulder blades, massaging from side to side and then up and down along your spine. It’s as though she’s locating every minute link of your bone structure, tickling it through your skin as she caresses you down to the small of your back. You tingle with amusement as your sister’s enormous fingertip pats at your butt, and close your eyes.

            At last that long digit of hurls curls around you, taking a smooth trip along your form, each segment of her finger melding by steam into your taut limbs and clenched stomach. Your every muscle is pointed and dedicated to pleasuring the summit of her breast. She enjoys you with slow abandon, reminding herself of your tiny and precious shape. Then her finger winds down between your legs, hooked underneath your bowing body, and begins to rub your hardened member up against your hip.

            A rush of mounting euphoria through your body, like magical pins and needles building on one another as she strokes your cock from beneath, her fingers curling into your prostrated body. The equivalent of television static in your every extremity. You manage to keep your composure, though, primping her areola between your thumbs and approximating as close as possible to deep-throating with your god-sister’s gigantic nipple.

            Humping Carly’s expertly twitching finger into your crotch, you briefly open your eyes again. Her other hand is stretched beyond your field of view, out of sight of her glorified face leaned back against the tub with cheeks flushed and lips cracked open like one of those beautiful frescoes from an exotic palace. Only this painting is real, and you are her only chosen audience. From the rhythm of her body below you, humming along and thrusting, you have a pretty good idea of what her other hand is doing.

            The end is approaching fast, as it so often does, but its geometry is different than anything you’ve yet experienced. The complex dance of this whole affair is exciting, confusing, and wonderfully new in ways you haven’t truly experienced since that day five years before when you were first squeezed naked into the wrinkled sole of your teenage owner. The times after were always special, of course, always glorious and justified in their own ways, but you truly can’t predict from second-to-second how you’re going to feel now. It’s all absolutely fresh and would be frightening if not for the perfect guardianship you feel guiding your every inch on all sides.

            You’re hunched over Carly’s golden breast to a symphony of her moans, sucking and gnawing her nipple, feeling the tender ground quake as she masturbates, while her finger delivers the most gratified reach-around in shrunken human history, cupping all your delicates against the curl of her warm and self-satisfied skin.

            For a curious instant, at the eye of the textured storm, your mind leaps back to days barely remembered. Maybe a week before you were reduced to this size. You, sitting in the office of a high school guidance counselor for a career options interview. The woman behind the desk asking where you saw yourself in five years after finishing high school. Without an exact answer, you only stared back at her, imagining some drivel about “going to college,” “studying computer technology,” and “having your own life.”

            What a cosmic joke that was.

            You’re not quite sure if both you and your sister reach climax at the same instant. It all just melts together. If anything, Carly probably brings you to orgasm first, as you were already on some kind of verge earlier after the toying between her toes and the various kisses and dangles you received prior to this heavenly bath. Still, even as you spasm against her finger, you make no effort to slow in your own pursuit of her end. This is still your gratitude you’re here to show, after all. Your mouth and hands work with newfound ferocity, biting and clenching at the duct of the titaness’s supple skin.

            Meanwhile, Carly’s climax is an eruption. Her shrill cry of joy bursts and flowers in the steamy air above the bath, her entire body jutting into the water out of necessity. You’re nearly thrown from the isle of her breast, if not for her palm residing right behind you. She catches you just as easily as she always has, collecting your thoroughly sated body into her loving fingers.

            “Now that’s how you say thank-you,” Carly sighs raggedly, still catching her breath, her forearm tensed from the luxurious effort of massaging herself to completion.

            You lean your cheek down against your sibling’s enormous thumbpad. The rumble of her racing pulse thumps from within.

            You couldn’t agree more.

 

End Notes:

Please comment!

Chapter 11: Bringing the Family Closer by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

Jack spends some time in his sister's boot during a pleasant family get-together.

            “So, Carly, how does it feel to be through with your first year of college?” Aunt Selina’s voice is insistent and booming as ever. Even though you’re separated from her by a thick layer of weathered boot leather, you can still pretty clearly pick out her words.

            “It feels awesome. I’m definitely ready for the break,” your sister answers. Briefly, your world is rocked back and forth and all around, almost absentmindedly. But you remain cemented in place, held down by hundreds of pounds of weight in the darkness, moist and warm.

            “I probably could’ve told you that, Selina,” your mother laughs from somewhere beyond, her voice just fuzzy enough to suggest she’d seated on a different couch than your aunt and sibling. “She’s certainly been texting me enough about how bored she is with school and how she’s just ready to get out there for vacation.”

            “Yeah, but that was just from basketball wrapping up,” Carly says. From the tone of her voice, you can imagine the exact geometry of the smile on her face. A curve, starting on the right side of her lips, maybe an eyeroll thrown in to match. You know it that well. Also, it’s safe to assume she threw her hands up in playful abandon at this admission.

            Another bob. The space shifts and smooshes around you in all kinds of new ways. Still, it’s no match for you and your mastery of this art. You bend your knees up and wrap your arms around the nearest pillar of squishy earth you can reach. Then, craning your neck, you jam your head in between Carly’s naked toes in the cramped solitude of her boot and rake your tongue along the tender flesh.

            Her entire boot, with her foot and you crammed underneath her toes inside where you belong, shudders. An animal response. A show of gratitude. Her digits firmly squeeze around what parts of your limbs they can grasp. Once your gigantic little sister has your pathetic hands and legs pinned back into the crevices of her toes, she lurches the entire mass of her foot up against the low roof of the boot, then body-slams you back into the mushy, ragged insole of the footwear. The wind is knocked out of you, but in the gentlest way possible. Unable to help it, you smother the gridded fruit of Carly’s big toe in licks all over again.

            After more than two hours down here of near-constant attention, your tongue is going a little dry, but you’ve managed to stave it off by slurping up what fluids you can salvage from inside here. There aren’t many options, but especially in these boots, and in the summer, your sister’s enormous peds can pick up a glaze of lukewarm, sticky perspiration in almost record time. There’s been a steady stream of beverage creeping into the cleavage of her toes for at least a half hour now. What droplets you miss are squeezed down into the latticework of her sole and added to the spongy base of the shoe. Which you’re able to drink from whenever Carly sees fit to flip you around to your stomach in the boot, so it’s a win-win, really.

            “I saw from Facebook you had a strong end to the season, hon. Congrats,” Selina says.

            “Thanks, Aunt Selina,” Carly mumbles in that underplayed aw-shucks tone she can pull off so well as an act. There’s an awkward passing of weight across the length of the boot, and you realize your sister is no longer just dangling her foot crossed over one leg, as she’s leaning in to one side, presumably to hug your giant aunt. Makes sense. Not like a little warning would’ve done much for you, anyway. You just wrap your arms into Carly’s lengthy second digit, even opening your jaw into it and sinking your teeth as deeply as you can against the raw, sour bulb that is the underside of her toe. Your five playful roommates all constrict back around you on the down swing, collecting you up against the ball of Carly’s enormous foot until you slide past. Even in the pitch black, with sensation assaulting you on all sides and the salty, acrid air making it impossible to perceive distance by breath, you can mete out your exact position under your sister’s body with a single tap of your finger at the rotund island above of muggy, muscular skin.

            You run your tongue into a sole crease, just so she realizes where you’ve shifted. The short distance your lips can reach is plenty to fill your cheeks with sharp sweat making its way in a river through the wrinkles of your sister’s flesh. It lingers in your throat like a potent hot sauce and tickles the back of your tongue long after you’ve swallowed it.

            An acquired taste, to be sure, but one you acquired shortly after you were first made to sample it. And one you’ve been giving up your consciousness to sample ever since.

            In answer, Carly’s foot arches higher above you, making room for your new residence in the center of her sole. With all the strength you have in you, given the still-crushing pressure surrounding you on all sides, you flatten your limbs out into a snow angel and let yourself be compressed up into the creamy, pheromone-laced mass that is your dominating sibling’s athletically conditioned ped. You’re sure to flip your member up against your waist to avoid pain from being massaged in the wrong direction up against the ever-shifting land mass of wrinkles and greasy foot skin.

            Almost immediately, Carly’s foot goes back to its usual pattern of bobbing while she entices you with this dangerously close proximity to your oblivious family. The grinding of her sole along the few-millimeter differential on your body is enough to get your blood pumping. Low as your oxygen is, and musky as the traces of it are, within a few huffs of the air and slick caresses of your frontside along your sister’s heavenly sole, your senses are coming fully alive. Your member is stiffening, though unfortunately squashed in a no-contest match-up against your titanic nineteen-year-old goddess’s foot. How she likes it.

            From up above, a rumble of laughter. Carly, chuckling.

            Evidently, she senses this change in you, small and sad as it is.

            “Hmm?” your aunt says.

            “Something funny happen, honey?” your mother asks politely.

            “Nah, just remembered a dumb joke somebody said before we headed home for summer… it’s gross, I probably shouldn’t repeat it,” Carly mutters, still holding back a giggle. From the increased thrusting of her sole down against you, pancaking you up with sticky invitation into the magnetism of her sole and body, you know precisely why she’s laughing.

            For some reason, it fills you with pride. Almost as if you’re allowed to enter into this conversation above, in whatever roundabout way, to aid your sister as her little bit of intrigue, though still not too far. After all, given your new status in life, there’s no need for you to even desire entering that conversation. Women, sitting around, sipping lemonades, chatting about school and work and Carly’s high scores. Conversations like that can get dull. The conversation you’re having, on the other hand: the silent one, of smells and tastes and writhing, fleshy, tribal bucking of hips against soles and into toe canyons. The communion of Carly’s foot sweat sliding down your throat. A most sacred dance. Well, this is where the real conversation in this room is taking place. You know it, and more significantly, Carly knows it. What’s happening to your naked, three-inch body inside her favorite boot, unbeknownst to anyone else in this house, is of far greater interest and importance to your sister than the meaningless exchange of unimportant information she’s having above.

            To your goddess, normal human obligations are just that: obligations. If the pair of you could have it your way, she’d be devoted full-time to remaining atop her place of ascension, with you at her heel, kissing her skin and coming up with prayers. And you’d be there for every instant of it, even if both your tongue and your dick got weary after a while.

            “I’m sure that’s the case,” your mother giggles. “Those teammates of yours have some dirty little minds.” From somewhere far beyond, you can make out muffled footsteps, though it’s more difficult than before through the barrier of your sister’s hovering sole on all sides, constantly adjusting its sunken depth around you, molding your shape into her skin.

            “Well, hey, sweetie!” your aunt calls out, this time not in Carly’s general direction.

            “Hi, Mom. Hi, Aunt Leah. Hi, Carly!”

            The high-pitched voice, punctuated by the seismic roll of the carpet somewhere below as the newcomer bounds into the room, announces your younger cousin Chloe without you even needing to see her.

            A frown etches into your forehead, despite the continued experience from one of Carly’s famous in-shoe sole-jobs, masturbating you into the supple folds of skin with masterfully practiced twitches of the muscle beneath. She’s an absolute maestro of your dick nowadays, toying with your mind as though she had the metal tools poked right into your brain, when all she has is your tiny naked body plastered religiously into her sweating foot. But still you frown.

            Chloe. The other loose end. Your youngest cousin wasn’t present during Sophie’s outburst on the college campus that nearly cost you your newfound freedom in Carly’s loving hands. Still, she saw you; she had you, in her hands, under her feet. She almost ate you, or at least threatened to, though you’re fairly confident she would’ve chickened out once your three-inch body was lodged in her throat. It’s easy to believe there’s nothing to worry about, necessarily, as Chloe is still a pre-teen and, you’re fairly certain from whispers from your parents some six or seven years ago, the girl is or was on some kind of medication.

            If any problems arise, you decide, Carly will have it handled. Like she’s handled everything else, your existence included. Why should you need to worry? If there was cause for concern, your sister would let you know.

            “Hey, Chloes,” Carly says with special attention and energy. A singsong lilt in her voice. To anyone else’s ears, it’s the sound of a nineteen-year-old greeting a twelve-year-old girl who most likely holds her in high esteem given her accomplishments. To your ears, though, it’s Carly soothing a potential liability. And from the sound of the response, it’s a liability no longer.

            “I didn’t know you were coming over!” Chloe says happily, or at least you’re pretty sure that’s what she’s said. The ecosystem inside your sister’s boot is on the move again, her arched sole flexing the opposite direction back down against you. The weight and pressure are pouring back on by the millisecond, but just before you would’ve been smeared under the ball of Carly’s foot as it endured her entire five-foot-eleven body weight of your sister standing up to hug Chloe, she taps her boot. Just a slight tic, something no one else in the room probably noticed. The heel of your sister’s deep leather boot is bumped against the leg of the couch. Like a minor car crash with plenty of air bag support, you’re thrown backward, but wedged up into the inverted insole before your head can bump against your sister’s heel. So easily, without skipping a beat, Carly kicked you into a safe space so she could stand and carry on life outside.

            It fills you with joy. Which is a decent enough trade-off, because you’re developing some serious blue balls after all that teasing under her arching sole without release. You know there will be an end, plus several more before the day is over just by default, but you suppose you’ve grown selfish in your blissful time down here the past six months.

            Carly’s the one completing her first year of college, but really, this marks a strange sort of anniversary for you, too, albeit a shorter one, but no less significant. After nearly five years of torment and unrelenting conflict with your sister, living like an animal in her sock drawer and only coming out so she could crank your anguish beyond ten, the past five months have made up for it one hundred times over and then some. This isn’t just the first step in your sister’s new life.

            It’s the first step in yours, too. And you wouldn’t want that step to be spent anywhere else except under the monstrous, benevolent foot the size of a bus that’s taking that step and currently grinding your very essence down into the gritty base of her shoe.

            Like she’s taught you in this language you’ve developed in silence, your tongue laps out again at this new stretch of slippery lower sole as Carly finishes hugging your little cousin and slumps back into the couch. The wrinkles flex and deepen above you in answer, confirming your safety, and then just as suddenly bulge down against you, resuming the gentle assault of your nethers with such subtlety and bizarre precision. This time, gravity is attempting to drag you down the slick decline of Carly’s boot as she props it up by an angle on the leg of the couch.

            But as proven time and time again, gravity is no match for your sister and her strength. You’re upside down, helpless, totally dependent upon Carly to deliver you. And she does. Her sole flattens back down at just the right angle to clamp you in place, slightly awkward though it may be, and entirely invisible to your family members outside the world of the boot and deliciously unaware of your presence. You’re positive their existence beyond your dark, squishy void is just sweetening the deal all the more; climax comes within a minute of Carly resuming her side-task from earlier of slowly churning your junk up against the rippling waves of sole wrinkles formed again and again in hypnotic pattern.

            In some incredibly sick, or maybe actually just perfectly healthy way, you feel gratified to be re-integrated into the family like this: silent, unnoticed, but nevertheless vital to the equilibrium of the room and the people in it, because you’re existing for the most important person by far in the room. Now you know for sure what felt so wrong about all those family reunions in years past.

            It was just missing that little bit of “you, shrunken, naked, worshiping a giant, wet, feminine foot as it humps you to orgasm.” Just that little bit.

            “Carly?” your aunt chimes in after the conversation’s carried on for several more minutes. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable taking off your shoes? You can leave them in the front hall if you like.”

            “Yes,” your sister says confidently, arching her sole off your worn-out body high enough that you can hear with perfect clarity. “I’m as comfortable as I could be.”

 

End Notes:

Please comment!

Chapter 12: Her Giant Little Toy (Part 1) by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

Jack imagines a reality where he didn't shrink, but still remains a powerless toy for his sister's use and enjoyment. Part 1.

            “Jack? Jack! JACK!”

            The imperious bellow, belonging so clearly to your sister, is familiar and yet foreign in your ears. It takes a moment to register where you even are, let alone where the voice is coming from other than somewhere above, as it always does.

            Prone and peaceful, your body lies still along the length of a padded cushion. To your side is an unknown shape, rising maybe just up to the height of your waist, like a bed, and suddenly the rest of the geometry around you snaps into place as you realize you’re not in the usual infinite cavern which any given space represents at less than three inches in height, but a strangely claustrophobic box. A regular room. And it is a bed beside you.

            You’re normal sized again. Laying at a height of six-foot-two.

            “Jack?” Carly calls again, still from somewhere above and unseen.

            You’ve fallen into yet another one of your strange dreams. But can you really blame yourself, for all the rich material your real life gives you to work with? Just as quickly as it occurs to you, you forget the unreality of this moment. Right now, Carly is calling for you, and that’s all that matters, whether it’s physically happening or not.

            “Oh!” Suddenly a face appears above, uncharacteristically similar in size to your own, but still as triumphant and sunny as you know it to be. “There you are!” Your sister’s face as she gazes down at you on the floor of her bedroom, smug and endearing in that way only she can manage.

            It takes another moment still to drink in her visage and correct for your expectations. It’s almost as if she’s regressed just a few revolutions of the sun, the structure of her face not yet matured to the full worldly confidence it’ll bear at age nineteen. Both of you are younger, you realize, looking down at the length of your body, inexplicably garbed in actual articles of human clothing. Somewhere deep in your gut, you understand that you and your teenaged sister are not more than a day beyond that fateful hour when you reduced down into your rightful stature.

            It feels like a universe away, to imagine that initial week of relearning your relationship as mistress and slave. The pair of you were more like children then, for as much as you knew. Now, you’re something far beyond those oh-so-human measures of time. And this “normal” size thing doesn’t feel quite right. Already you wish you were back down at the height of your sister’s thumb. Still, if you have to be this disgustingly tall, looking up at her from the floor feels like the most appropriate concession.

            “Good mooooorning!” Carly sings. She sits up in her bed, yawning and stretching out in her pajamas as she turns to face you, cocking her head to the side as she gazes lovingly at you. “I thought you would’ve gotten up already. That was nice of you to wait for me.”

            “Oh, you know,” you answer earnestly, slipping so easily into whatever strange new existence you find yourself in. “I just wanted to say good morning to you, too.”

            “Aww. That’s cute. You’re cute,” Carly coos. She slides both bare legs over the side of her bed, her naked toes wriggling and dancing above your head. “Well, whatcha waiting for?”

            Obediently, you open your mouth, and Carly crams it with her toes. For a couple minutes she alternates washing each toe along your inner cheek, thoroughly rinsing each against your lips. Your jaw begins to get a little tired after a while, but you remain calmly prone while your sister cleanses her foot in your mouth. She hums a soft tune under her breath while she does so, a cheeky grin on her lips as she slides her toes away from your teeth and instead plants her entire heel into the opening of your mouth. It rocks from side to side, the rubbery mound of her muscular appendage keeping your aching lips pried open for her use.

            A few choice slides of her instep along your tongue, and she seems finally satisfied. Carly steps off the bed with a hard slam of her heels mere inches from where you lie on the floor. She peers down at you with piteous affection.

            “That was a nice good morning,” she compliments you, playfully slapping her sole against your cheek. “You can do the other one at breakfast. C’mon. We’re gonna be late.”

            You rise up, more surprised than ever to find yourself actually standing taller than your sibling for the first time in longer than you can remember or even conceive. It feels wrong, to be standing up behind her, and looking down at the top of her head a solid five inches lower. However, from the look she gives you as she turns to leave, followed by the confident strut and the twiddling of her fingers to beckon you, it’s quickly forgotten.

            Your size difference is only physical, which to Carly, is among the least important factors of her control over you.

            Hardly bothering to think more than a few seconds ahead of your actions, you allow yourself to accept the oddity of this unreality you’re in now. Whatever’s happening, you know the best thing is to follow Carly. That always leads you down the right path. And so you do, trundling loyally after your younger sister down the steps of your parents’ house and into the hallway, finally ending up in the kitchen.

            You almost double-take at the sight of your parents, both reading the paper at the kitchen table with mugs of coffee in their hands. Your mother Leah looks up at the pair of you, smiling.

            “You’ll have to book it, hun. The bus will be here soon,” Leah says, her eyes locked to Carly’s. She doesn’t even cast a glance in your direction. Can she see you? Are you even real in this place?

            “I know, I know. But it’s the most important meal of the day!” Carly sings as the two of you arrive at the table. She turns to face you, half-smirking and raising an eyebrow at you. “Well?” she giggles.

            “Um,” you mumble, scratching your chin.

            Your sister shakes her head. “Silly boy. Get down.” She reaches up, placing her broad palm atop your head. After giving your hair a good, hard ruffle, she applies pressure, encouraging you to lower yourself. At your normal size, even arms as toned and lean as hers aren’t technically strong enough to physically force you to bow, but they don’t need to be. Automatically your muscles respond, causing you to kneel down at your sister’s feet.

            “Oh,” you say with realization. You watch her lovely toes thumping happily against the carpet fibers.

            “It’s not like you were gonna sit at the table,” she snickers, clearly amused at the very notion of such a thing. She stifles her mirth with one hand, while playing with your hair between her fingers, petting you like a beloved dog. Her hand, nearly wide enough to palm a basketball, even in her youth, seems to cover much of the top of your head, while her fingers knead your scalp. It’s certainly convincing.

            “That would’ve been weird,” you agree with her.

            “Of course it would,” she says. Carly slides into her chair, guiding you by the top of the head to sit below the tabletop, your eyes level with her stomach. Both of her bare feet are plopped heavily into your lap as soon as you’re in position.

            Above, there’s a clatter of metal utensils and glass tumblers as Carly snatches herself some breakfast, only semi-consciously acknowledging your presence now. Shrugging, you set to work, cradling the previously unattended foot from before and massaging it. You even lift it to your lips and begin to suckle. After all, it wouldn’t do to only have one of them done this morning.

            Your passion is spurred on as Carly’s other heel remains prominently planted in your lap, the ball of her foot resting conspicuously down on your crotch, pinning your member comfortably down against your thigh through your pants. Occasionally those toes wriggle against your bulge, sending an electric tingle through your nerves. A thank-you gesture.

            After a few minutes of this pleasantry, you feel a tapping on the top of your head. Regretfully, you let Carly’s big toe slurp out of your mouth.

            “I know you like doing that, little bro, but eating my toes isn’t gonna keep you going all day, and I like you awake. So eat some breakfast.”

            “Okay,” you shrug, shifting your legs in preparation to crawl out from under the table and join her at the table, but her middle finger flicks at your forehead. She giggles.

            “I didn’t say come up, did I?”

            “I don’t think you did, no.”

            “You’re funny,” she comments. Her foot prods back against your chest, the ball of it kicking insistently at your rib cage. “Go ahead and keep rubbing. Both hands. I’ll take care of you.”

            “All right,” you say again, not particularly prone to arguing with Carly’s will. You’re content enough with all these settings now, bizarre as they are, that they’re prepared to go with just about anything. You wrap both palms, as promised, back around her foot, kneading her soles and looping your fingers between her slender toes.

            When Carly leans back down below the level of the table surface again, her cheeks are puffed with food as she chews with her mouth open. After a few moments of this, she cups her palm below her chin and hocks the bite of mulched food into her hand. Then she extends her hand towards you, the ball of mushy, saliva-drenched breakfast. It smells sickly sugary of syrup and Carly’s bittersweet morning breath. Probably a bite of waffle, or whatever remains of it after your sister’s chewed it so thoroughly. It’s hard to say.

            “Go ahead,” she encourages, returning her attention back to the tabletop, though her hand continues to hover in front of your eyes, offering the gooey mass of food. “Eat up, little bro.”

            Nodding, you lean forward, as your hands still busily attend to both her bare feet, and eat out of Carly’s hand. She makes it easy, flattening her palm so your lips can wrap around the entire bite of chewed waffle. As you accept it into your mouth, she pats the top of your head again, ruffling your hair, and returns to her meal.

            It doesn’t take much more chewing on your part, obviously, since it’s already been chomped and partially dissolved by Carly’s spit. Like a baby bird waiting for snacks from its returning mother, you basically just have to swallow the humble offering. It feels good in your throat: warm, soggy and of home. Your thumbs make circles against your sister’s instep as both of her heels edge teasingly around the tent in your pants. Coaxing you higher.

            After another minute, Carly’s hand appears again from above with a fresh bite of newly chewed and swished waffle. She doesn’t duck down to look at you this time or explain; it’s pretty clear now. You don’t require any prompting to lean forward and suck the smelly chunk of buttery bread from your sister’s palm.

            This pattern proceeds for another two dozen or so bites. Occasionally after you’ve accepted your revolting treat, Carly’s fingers will toy with your hair, or cup your chin in her palm and wrap her fingers as far as they’ll reach around your neck without squeezing, presumably so she can feel the lump of food sliding down your throat. Sometimes she chuckles at the exact instant your neck bulges slightly with the soupy bite of breakfast waffle, pressing against her curious fingertips.

            At last, when no new bites are forthcoming, you lick your lips of residual syrup and Carly’s saliva, peacefully caressing your sister’s generous feet. You hear your father clear his throat from above, followed by your mother sighing.

            “Carly, honey, you two really need to get a move on. The bus will be here any minute.”

            “Okaaaay, Mom. We’re going.”

            All right, so you’re not invisible, you’re just irrelevant to your parents here; it’s comforting to have that cleared up. You look up at the sound of jangling. Thin metal on thin metal. Your sister’s naked feet remain weighed down in your lap, ensuring you stay put. Her hands come below the table again, clutching a bright red dog collar printed with cartoon bones, attached to a retractable leash in a handle.

            Wordlessly, you watch as Carly’s thumbs fumble with the snap opening of the collar. Once stretched wide, she brings it forward, curling it like a crown around your neck, then prying her finger against the slider until the thing is suitably cinched around your neck. Not so tight that it’s painful, but also enough that it’s not going to slip anywhere. Last comes the leash, clipped onto the jangling tag of the leash. By craning your neck downward, you can just make out your name and address printed on the little dog tag.

            Of course. That makes sense, really. Why would Carly want to risk losing her belongings?

            Carly’s index and middle fingers wedge themselves around the thin line of the leash, guiding down toward your neck. She hooks her thumb into your collar and gives it a little tug, again not so much that it hurts, but strong enough that you feel it squeeze your Adam’s apple. Strong enough that you know she could give you a much harder tug if she desired.

            “C’mon out of there now,” Carly instructs musically. Her sole compresses down against your crotch, gently squashing your member through the fabric. “We’re gonna be late for my school!”

            You don’t need her to tell you twice.

 

End Notes:

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Chapter 13: Dear Carly, Amen by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

After some intense foot worship during church, Carly and Jack decide only a new religion can define their relationship.

            You feel your heartbeat syncing with Carly’s as you squeeze the doughy pad of her second toe down against your chest. Her pulse pounds vigorously through the muscle and flesh. Carefully directing its flow, you encircle the ball of her digit from one shoulder to the other, smearing the plush gridded skin against your own steaming body. Perfection. With your head tipped back, you lick idly at the sweet crevice poised just above, feeling her skin tingle at your delicate tongue. The nectar of her zesty sweat gloms down your gullet.

            In the dark, with only muffled sound from the outside world, these tactile responses are all you have to converse. Carly’s heels are especially pointy and tall today. More so than usual, you’re stacked at the bottom of a totem pole: slid into the tip at the end of a slope, with your giant sister’s sticky-summer foot crammed atop you.

            Your parents have been dragging her to church more Sundays now that she’s home for summer from college. She begrudgingly obliges, groaning as she rises from bed, often storing you somewhere convenient on her body while the sermon drones on for more than an hour. It gives her a way to pass the time, savoring the feeling of your tiny hidden body pleasing her somewhere on the landscape of her titanic person: she’s made no mistake of telling you this.

            And you’re only too happy to be along for the field trip; it wonderfully feeds into your newfound fetish for being silently present around other giants. Right now, you have a literal hall full of them, all praying and singing, blissfully unaware of the pocket of sin existing in the same space right now.

            So here you are, in the third pew at church, tucked gently into Carly’s left heel, jamming your head into the moist crevice of her toes, massaging them on your chest and lapping greedily for more like a kitten desperate for milk.

            Today she let you choose the heels you were “imprisoned” in. She you in the palm of her hand and grinned as your eyes scanned greedily over the various rows in her closet of shoes in all manner of colors, heights, and materials. Carly really is incredibly caring, more so than you ever would’ve believed even six months ago. You chose a three-inch pair, pointing modestly to them and scratching the back of your head.

            “The periwinkle ones?” Carly questioned kindly.

            “Uh, yeah.”

            “Why do you look weird about it? Too sexy for church?”

            “Not that. But… they’re kinda tall, compared to some of those others… I don’t know if that-”

            “Oh, come on, Jackie-poo, you know I like being tall,” your sister teases. Her thumb prods playfully at your bare rear end. “It’s no problem.”

            “You won’t get sore in them?” you ask. As much as Carly enjoys towering over everyone else at her basketball-stature, you also know for a fact she tends to avoid the taller variety of footwear when available. She’s certainly a function over fashion type of girl: another reason you love her so dearly.

            “I mean, maybe a little sore, but that’s why I’ll have you down there, isn’t it?” she coos. “Besides, it’s not like I’m the only one who might get sore.”

            And from there you were slid inside, patted a final time by your giant sister’s adoring fingers. Left with only a few more cracks of light from the open bedroom window, you were quickly thrust into familiar, warm darkness as her enormous bare foot barreled into the void. You were squished lovingly under her toes in your normal position, letting her digits get situated and comfortable on their makeshift miniature footrest, and off you both went.

            Today’s service seemed to drag on even longer than usual. For you, this isn’t really an issue, since you have five bouncing, sweaty toes that need attention and care. You could be down here for several sermons worth of time in your family’s church and still not pay them all the affection they deserve.

            When Carly finally pries her shoe away from her foot in the comfort and solitude of her locked bedroom, you can see the pure boredom in her eyes. Her jaw hangs open, cutely, but nonetheless with exasperation as she plucks you out of the damp insole of the sloped shoe and sets you in the sea of blankets.

            “Oh my Gooood… that went on foreeever,” she moans, rolling her head back. Your six-foot tall sister, in all her golden lanky glory, reclines back against the wall on the opposite side of her bed, the twin monuments of her newly freed peds digging at the bed sheets for massage relief. They bear telltale indents of dotted pink and raw red from where the shoe dug into her skin, in curved lines along the tops and insteps of each magnificent beast of a foot.

            You can’t help but feel a welt of guilt building in your throat like heartburn as you sit at the end of the bed. It was your choice to put her in those heels, after all. Sure, she could’ve denied you and put on something more comfortable, but she did it for you, so you’d have maximum fun while licking and worshiping her toes.

            What kind of brother are you, anyway?

             “I’m… sorry,” you mumble, clearing your throat. Your voice cracks as though you were twelve again and mustering through puberty. It makes you feel weak, but you suppose that’s a good thing in Carly’s presence. Feeling weak is correct.

            “For what?” she asks, perking up slightly at the sound of your distress. Your sister props herself up on her elbows, her boundless legs stretching out further until she has you poised between each of her arched feet, with a hill of silky fabric leading up toward her chest and curious face beyond. Of course, on the southern half of your line of sight is the deep and winding tunnel leading up her skirt, flanked on both sides by those muscular pillars of leg, and up to her dark panties at the end.

            You can’t quite answer immediately. You have to just admire the gift she’s giving you now.

            “What?” she repeats with a smirk and a rumbling giggle. “Cat got your tongue?”

            “No,” you insist. You lean over, planting a kiss on the smooth, ruddy curve of her instep as it stretches far above your nearly three-inch tall head. “My goddess got my tongue.”

            “Okay, you little flatterer,” Carly chuckles. Her feet sway from side to side, still rooted at her rounded heels to the bed on either side of you. Her toes dance and flex freely, drawing your eyes. “Speaking of which, you did a nice job down there today. It would’ve felt like it was even longer if I didn’t have you being you down there, doing what you do best in life.”

            “No problem,” you shrug.

            “So what is the problem, then?” she presses. There’s a glint in her eye, and she sits up higher, giver her greater leverage over the colossal mass that is her toned body. Her legs begin to curl, first upward at the knees, then inward as she folds them into a yoga-style pose. Those magnetizing naked pink soles curve toward one another, then draw near. As per usual, you hold still as you watch your sister enact her will, your heartbeat barely rising more than a few beats per minute, and only with anticipation.

            Her feet come together, clamping you together at the tender, deepest valley of her soles, leaving you plenty of room, even as you’re surrounded on all sides by soft, heavenly, wrinkled foot skin.

            “C’mon now,” Carly wheedles gently, in barely a murmur. She leans in nearer to you, her hot breath wafting around you in your broad vice of fleshy walls. “Tell big sissy what the problem is. Why so glum, little bro?”

            “I… um, well…” Your voice cracks again just thinking about all the discomfort you caused your sister this morning by selecting the three-inch periwinkles.

            “You wanna cry?” Carly asks. The phrase sounds a few decibels away from silly: it’s the kind of thing your sister might’ve taunted you with when the pair of you were children, making life hell for each other with the constant back-and-forth of minor skirmishes and repeated petty vengeances.

            Now, the question is genuine. Truly genuine. Caring.

            “I… don’t know.”

            “Go ahead. Cry, little bro. It’s okay,” Carly insists. “Cry for me.”

            You pause, only for a breath. It might be one of the stranger requests you’ve ever fielded from your sister, and that’s taking into account the literal years you’ve spent where she’s asked you, her older brother, to lick her sweaty toes while you jack off into the folds.

            “I want you to cry now, Jack.”

            That’s all you have to hear. As if your very bodily functions were awaiting the okay, your vision blurs and the tears cascade down your cheeks. It might be the first time you’ve really bawled in years, since the day Carly first vowed that she’d never reveal your shrunken stature as she lowered you into your new home in her shoe.

            “It’s all right. Let it out,” Carly calmly instructs like some kind of personal therapist. The illusion of therapy is somewhat warped, though, as her pinky finger massages the top of your head, while the rest of your tiny naked body is wrapped more snugly into the twin sides of her feet. Your tears seep into her skin like lotion. Your heartbeats sync again through the pulse of her flesh. Your dick slides into an especially deep sole wrinkle.

            Just about the best therapy available to you. And maybe, probably, something more. Something far more celestial.

            “I’m sorry I asked you to wear those shoes,” you sputter, your words choked back in your throat. You feel incredibly ridiculous right now, actually crying over something you both have experienced together countless times over the past several years. Maybe it’s all the time you spent down in the briny darkness nestled between her toes where your senses were altered. Maybe it’s the fact that you were in a place of worship before amongst all those people, and you were just trying to worship the only being there worthy of your worship.

            “Oh, is that all?” Carly says, stifling a giggle, for your sake. “You silly little boy. I showed you the choices, didn’t I? If I didn’t want to wear something, I wouldn’t have made it one of the choices.”

            It makes sense. Still, logic’s not quite getting through to you now, even if your sister is incredibly talented at it.

            Her fingers continue to stroke your shoulders and neck, successfully soothing you somewhat. Her soles close yet nearer around you, until she has you firmly in the grasp of each tremendous ped. It hardly makes sense, that a body as small and frail as yours is able to be gripped so dexterously just by the weathered bottoms of the feet of your nineteen-year-old savior. Yet you trust that a hurricane could blow through the room now and she wouldn’t release you from her warm grasp.

            You have absolute faith in her.

            “I know…” you sigh. With little option about where your body shifts now, given how tightly Carly’s soles are clamped around you, you take your limited recourse and lean your cheek down against her instep. By habit, your tongue flicks at the curved landscape of peachy skin walling you in. The reassuring flavor cocktail of sour salt and fruity bathwash, united by the singular, balmy taste of your sister’s skin, fresh from the steamy heels. A comfort to you in these trying times as any.

            “You always find ways to make me laugh, little bro,” Carly says brightly. She dabs at your wet cheeks with her giant fingertips, collecting your tears into the ovals of the pads. Her fingers rotate against one another, grinding, letting your tears sink into her pores. “Well, don’t let me stop you. You said your goddess has your tongue. Does she, or not?”

            “Of course,” you mutter awkwardly. With greater fervor now, you open your jaws as wide as possible and wrap them haphazardly over the textured ridge of her instep. Supple and forgiving as it is, in spite of the hard muscle beneath, her foot is simply too wide for you to really sink your teeth in. You resort to simply dragging your tongue on approximately an inch of differential, as that’s as far as your neck will crane, with the rest of your naked body gripped by her soles below.

            A few rotations and, like the connoisseur you are, you begin to collect the more nuanced flavors. The starchy memory of carpet and bed sheets, just a little downier and flowery in their persuasion. The spicy undertones of these complex tanned skin cells, marinating on a daily basis in bittersweet sweat and leaked toejam, aged like fine wine at the height of her talent and athleticism. Earthy, chocolatey. God, you’re so fucking lucky, it almost makes you nauseous.

            Carly watches from above, combing her slender fingers through her straightened dirty-blonde hair at shoulder length, her blue eyes glowing at the sight of you between her feet down in her lap. A square of late-morning sunlight from the window frames her golden countenance. She nibbles the corner of her mouth as a heavily drawn exhalation spills from the opening of her lips.

            “Maybe we haven’t done enough,” Carly utters at length, the words formed with less certainty than usual. She’s clearly been doing some intense thinking while she busily watched you hungrily sampling her giant feet.

            “What?” you gasp with some embarrassed horror. You speed up the lapping, pressing your tongue even harder into the bulwark of flesh. “I can… bite! Or, do it longer? Oh, God, I…”

            “Yeah, that’s the idea,” she interrupts happily.

            “What?”

            “That… “Oh, God” part. I mean, we’ve always talked about it, just a little bit. Almost like our cute little joke. That I’m your… you know.”

            “Yeah?” It’s funny, and a tad ironic, to hear that Carly’s always viewed this nomenclature as a partial jest. To you, nothing was ever more serious than calling your teenage sister your personal deity. Though it’s fitting, really, that the faith of the believer should be adhered more rigidly than the believed.

            “Well, all these boring mornings at church have me thinking… maybe it should be more. For us,” Carly continues, with your rapt attention drinking in every word. “Maybe, with the two of us working together, we can come up with something… beautiful.”

            “Like what?” You want to know the answer so badly, your skin feels like it’s being feasted on by thousands of unseen microbes, gnawing down to the base of your being. A reduction.

            “Religion,” Carly declares. “A new one. My religion. What do you think, little bro?”

            “Oh, God,” you moan. “Yes, please.”

            “Ask and you shall receive,” she says with a wink. Your sister grins, with the gorgeous glare of the sun still forming an abstract halo about her shining head. The wall of foot facing you curls, the wrinkles painting anew into her skin and embracing your chest, your legs, and your dick deeper into those magical folds.

            And hallowed be her name, ‘til kingdom come.

 

End Notes:

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Chapter 14: Her Giant Little Toy (Part 2) by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

Jack imagines a reality where he didn't shrink, but still remains a powerless toy for his sister's use and enjoyment. Part 2.

            You tramp humbly down the concrete sidewalk of your neighborhood, only loosely refreshed by the exposure to the outside world. You may be “normal” sized again, but for all intents and purposes of this strange reality, you might as well not be. The cottony dog collar coiled around your neck insists on constant forward momentum, as your teenage sister grasps the leash handle on the opposite hand in sure, confident fingers. All you have to do is follow her: the slap of her soles against well-worn flip-flops, colliding with the earth, commanding it to accept her ownership of you.

            As sure as you were before you woke up that this is all just some powerless-drunken dream, and that you’re going to wake up at any moment back at your size of just under three inches tall, that end possibility is becoming less important. Whether or not this moment is real, as your younger and shorter sister drags you on a leash toward her ride to school, is irrelevant.

            So long as your purpose as a living being is served, all is right with the universe.

            “Come on, slow poke!” Carly scolds you playfully; the lilting giggle on the end of her sentence lets you know she’s not actually upset at your shambling pace, but the quick tug from her fist around the leash also lets you know she’s not necessarily just toying around.

            The sun is out, the grass is green, the birds are squawking musically from some unseen point beyond the neighborhood’s trees. And you’re walking dutifully behind your sibling on a dog leash, out in public, ready to help and serve her in whatever ways she requires this day. Such as carrying her hot-pink backpack for her. Could there be a more perfect purpose, regardless of your height?

            The pair of you reach the end of the street just as the school bus pulls up in a puff of dark exhaust. As the doors creak open, Carly turns to you one last time in your relative solitude, flashes you a promising smile, and clomps up the high steps of the vehicle. Shrugging, you follow after her before the slack on your leash can tug your neck; this pet-accessory she placed on your neck at the breakfast table is fairly loose and would be incredibly easy to remove with just a pinch of the plastic buckle. But that’s not the point, of course. There’s never even a consideration in your mind to remove it without permission from your younger sister.

            Surprisingly to you, though, as you follow Carly down the thin aisle of the bus between the faux-leather seats, nobody seems especially focused on you. Eyes linger on you just slightly longer than is necessary to process your physical presence. You expected some boggled glances and semi-repulsed facial expressions as the teens filling the bus made judgments and conclusions about your relationship. But there are none. If anything, they only look to Carly, watching her with a certain admiration and distant longing. You can’t say you blame them.

            Maybe you’ve been in this situation more times than you’re aware right now, and they’re just used to you.

            In either case, Carly selects a seat near the back of the bus, and extends a hand into the empty seat, indicating for you to go first. Before you can take a seat on the actual surface, though, your sister gives you a little flick in the small of your back, and presses down on your head again like she did at breakfast to get you to go under the table.

            You catch on quicker this time and manage to awkwardly wedge yourself down onto the floor, sinking your legs below the bar-prodding seat and face the back of the bus as Carly slides herself into the seat, taking the entire thing for herself. Her backpack plops down where you might’ve sat. Naturally, she swings one leg over your head, so that she has your clumsy torso straddled between each of her shapely thighs. With her hand still firmly grasping your dog leash, and her cushy inner legs clamped around your shoulders, you feel absolutely secure as the bus lurches into motion.

            The bus ride to Carly’s school is mostly uneventful. Your sister tucks ear buds in, listening to music and bobbing her head as she watches out the window, occasionally twirling her gorgeous dirty-blonde locks around her index finger. As for your part, Carly taps a foot in time with the song, jostling her thigh against the side of your head. It’s not an unpleasant sensation to be bounced against your sister’s fairly powerful leg, even if it does get disorienting in combination with the rumble of the bus floor.

            Upon arrival in the school parking lot, the bus brakes hard and your head is heavily pressed into the side of Carly’s thigh by centrifugal forces. She giggles, clamping her legs harder around you and briefly headlocking you with her b-ball-trained quads. Goose bumps run along your skin.

            As the students unload, your sister swings her leg back over your head, taking special care to brush your face along the ragged hem of her cut-off shorts. You can’t help but get a whiff of her most precious aroma, cooked by body heat and her citrusy soap. Perhaps on the strength of the scent, or maybe by a tug from Carly’s leash-bearing hand, you’re tugged to your feet. You sling her backpack over your shoulders again and are guided down the length of the bus and onto the sidewalk outside.

            Next comes a trek through constantly dissolving and swelling throngs of students. Hundreds of bodies bustling toward the school, backpacks, purses, and half-finished breakfast beverages in hand. All of them both younger and shorter than you, just as Carly is. All of them with far more agency in their personal lives than you will ever have again or even deserve. It’s a very comfortable sensation, to be looking down physically at the tops of most of their heads, despite knowing what you are to most of them, and in particular to your sister: a tool and plaything.

            Again, you go relatively unnoticed. No wandering eyes clinging on you with pity or disgust. At most, you see a flash of recognition in the eyes of passerby as Carly moves past them, though generally, she doesn’t have to shoulder past anyone. They just part for her. They know her, and they know why her strapping older brother is following her, a colorful dog collar latched around his neck and looped to a leash in her hand.

            Your teen queen sibling on occasion plays with the string of the leash as she guides you into the halls of the school and toward her locker. She loops it back and forth around her hands and arms like a twirling baton, and even shortens it at times, until her thumb is poised up against your neck. This always turns into an opportunity for her to pet your face, though, either to comb your bangs over with her spit, or to simply trace her fingers over your cheeks above her. You feel uniquely blessed.

            At her silent request, you dump her backpack contents into her locker and gather the required materials for her first class of the day. She rewards you with a long kiss on the cheek that leaves a small string of her saliva on your chin. Zipping the pack back up, you depart for the room just down the hall, passing between more easily parted crowds of kids headed sleepily for their own learning experiences.

            You’re in the middle of one of your own learning experiences, of course, though not quite the same as theirs. Yours is much better than hearing a teacher drone on about algebra or American history; your teacher is giving you the most important lessons of all. Life lessons.

            Still, you can’t help but question the results of all this oddity. You can see how you might go mostly ignored on the bus and on the way into school, but the reality that Carly’s about to drag you into class at her feet is setting in. Will it be allowed?

            “C… uh, Carly?” you pipe up just before she steps into the classroom. Politely, your sister halts in her tracks and turns to face you, twirling her finger around your leash as she patiently studies your face above. She’s always patient with you.

            “Yes, Jack?”

            “What are… I mean, will I… will I be able to… um…”

            She shakes her head pitifully, her smile restricted to the corner of her mouth. She steps forward, placing the balls of her feet atop your shoes, and stands on her tiptoes, mostly closing the height difference between you. Her warm breath puffs against your neck.

            “Jackie-Poo… how many times have we had this talk? There’s no reason to worry. Nobody will care. They know why you’re here.”

            “They do?”

            “Of course they do.”

            “You… you mean you talked to a teacher about this and got permission?”

            Carly’s brow furrows in amused confusion at the phrase, and you realize you just said the word permission to your sister. Something she hasn’t had to seek in quite some time. If ever, truly.

            “I told you,” she repeats. “They know why you’re here.”

            “Okay.”

            “Just follow me, little bro,” she insists. “Unless you had an appointment somewhere to suck on someone else’s feet during this class?”

            “I don’t think I did,” you gulp, unable to stop from goofily smiling.

            “Good,” she confirms. Carly’s tongue extends softly and she licks a thin line of gleaming saliva up your neck, then steps down from your shoes and gives your leash a tug. “C’mon, toy boy. Let me play with you.”

 

End Notes:

Please comment!

Chapter 15: Honey, I Shrunk You by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

It's movie night for Carly and Jack, though as usual, the real show isn't on the screen.

            “Look at how they’re just running away. It’s pretty disrespectful, when you really think about it,” Carly comments with genuine disdain. She shakes her head, her brow furrowing slightly, her lips pouted in that irresistibly cute angle that also suggests she’s completely authentic in her feeling.

            You shrug, crossing your arms behind your head as you recline comfortably in the warm, expansive palm of your little sister’s giant hand. Your legs are crossed over her accommodating thumb, creating a makeshift chair out of her fingers. It’s not often you’re so free and casual in her hand; odds are, you’ll be shifted around soon to an equally comfortable if less liberal position, so you enjoy it while you can.

            After all, you have the house to yourselves, and Carly is splayed like a resting lioness across the couch: an oversized t-shirt just barely concealing the top half of her toned body, track shorts displaying most of her long, bare legs as they drape over the couch arms, her tender toes musically swaying and scrunching. There’s any number of places you could end up, to the amusement of you both.

            Beyond, the TV screen flashes with the cartoonish antics of Honey, We Shrunk Ourselves. Last week, your goddess-sibling insisted on the pair of you viewing the first film where the kids shrink instead. The resulting good-natured fun of your private movie night, followed by some fairly intense worship across most of the length of her body as soon as the credits rolled, confirmed it was a great idea. You’re guessing she’s after a similar result by having you watch the sequel now; not that you have a single damn problem with the prospect of such a thing.

            Like you even need an excuse to cover every square millimeter of the ecosystem that is Carly’s magnificent, Olympian form with kisses.

            But even you have to admit the movie is a nice appetizer. Your sister has always been spurred on by reminders of her size and power difference over you. Even a well-placed forced perspective photograph in one of her magazines, depicting giant lingerie models hovering over a tiny urban environment, and odds are, you’re going to be on service duty to the lush, tanned landscape of Carly’s body that night. What better way to activate those feelings, than by watching a fantasy comedy that replicates with corny special effects the bizarre but all-too-real reality the pair of you exist within?

            It’s easy to see how easily she’s going to let herself fade into the mood of the thing. It’s not so difficult for you, either.

            “Don’t you think that’s stupid of them to run away, Jackie-poo?” Carly repeats, extending a finger from her free hand toward the TV, wherein the newly shrunken dads are sprinting away in terror from their still-normal sized wives. She clearly wants to make sure you know exactly what she’s talking about that’s so stupid.

            “It is pretty stupid,” you agree happily and, you realize, truthfully. It reminds you an awful lot of how you first reacted, or at least tried, with your actual experience. And that certainly didn’t play out well for you at first. Escape was impossible. Utter genuflection toward the greater beings in one’s life is the best path, you’ve long ago discovered.

            “You wanna know a secret?” Carly whispers cheekily. She lifts her hand up from her lap containing you, bringing her cupped palm closer to her chin. The warmth of her whisper is hot on the back of your neck as she draws you near her lips.

            “Totally.”

            “When I first saw this movie when I was little, I, like, completely wanted it to be real.”

            “What, you mean-”

            “Well, not, like exactly what happened - I’m not some psychic or something. But, you know… to see what it might be like? Having a little one? Actually, I think just cuz it’s the mom and dad in the movie that get small, I was thinking of…”

            “…our mom and dad?”

            “Just a little bit,” Carly explains with, you realize with some surprise, bashfulness. Your sister isn’t the type of person to be embarrassed by much, as the years have clearly revealed. Her pink cheeks flush.

            It’s almost a little strange to be discussing “your” parents in such public terms with Carly. She infrequently generates discussion which puts you, at least ideologically, on the same level. Fortunately, you can bet you’re never far from being reminded of your place again.

            “Guess I gotta just settle for lil’ old you,” Carly giggles. Her middle finger curls into her palm where you’re still reclining comfortably in the nude. She nudges your limp dick with the broad, soft tip of her digit, chuckling at your semi-startled reaction. Before you can even think about getting circulation down to that area, though, you’re faced with a different dilemma.

            Carly’s palm tips, slowly at first, but her fingers offer no protection as you stumble over the hump of her thumb and down the short distance to her lap. It’s a fleeting, stomach-churning fall, but ends in less than a second. Her titanic thighs, firm and powerful from countless days spent running suicides up the basketball court, part only just enough to allow you entry. With a quick squeeze, your gigantic sister has you clamped between her warm quads.

            You’re almost entirely ensconced in the deeply trenched valley of Carly’s upper thighs. Without pause, the girl begins a comforting pattern of contracting and softening her impressive muscles. Simultaneously, she demonstrates her power anew for you, as well as confirming just how tightly she can squeeze you without inflicting pain before allowing you to float briefly in the narrow vice of leftover teenage cellulite.

            It’s a vivid mass of potent humanity on all sides of you, roiling with adductors and blood vessels beneath that golden flesh which you so highly covet on your owner. Carly’s thighs are practically a living contradiction of plush skin and rigid, nearly unyielding runner’s muscle beneath. It’s always a real treat when she puts you down here.

            “It’s not a bad trade-off, though, when you think about it,” Carly concludes with a nod. She cocks her head, observing you with quiet amusement entrapped between her legs. Her thighs tighten around you, partially numbing the lower half of your body from the pressure. “If Mom and Dad got small, they might not have been as sweet and fun as you are about it.”

            “True,” you grunt, not able to summon much else verbally. In other words, they’d probably be how you so foolishly were for the past five years. Thank Goddess you figured it out when you did.

            For a little while, at least, the movie proceeds with the pair of you relaxed in this particular position. Your sister’s legs draped lazily over the couch arm, and her most prized possession pinched cutely between her mighty quads. Carly’s eyes above return to the TV screen and, clearly, so does most of her attention. Occasionally she lowers a pinky finger down below her legs to stroke at your hair and chest, never failing to rustle up a fresh layer of goose bumps down your increasingly toasty body. Her thighs are still rigidly poised, keeping you securely above the couch cushions, but you detect some deliberate softening on her grip. Lowering you.

            With every passing minute, you sink just a little deeper into the luscious, bronzed abyss of your sister’s crossed legs. Partially by virtue of the tantalizingly subtle presence of perspiration formed between her thighs from being so hotly clamped together for consecutive minutes without air, you’re allowed to slide further in. The numbness spreads from your toes and knees up to your stomach. A complete enveloping by your sister’s legs, while she barely pays you mind.

            Her entire body rattles every few minutes with cheery, lilting laughter at the movie. Usually when the shrunken characters find themselves in a fresh predicament resulting from their earlier foolishness by running from their enormous betters. When Carly laughs, your body is shaken out of its loss of sensation only temporarily, buzzing you to the bones and forcing a smile on your lips by default. How can someone so titanic, so all-mighty, so uncaring of whether or not you have a decent view of the screen, be so relentlessly adorable?

            The next time Carly’s fingers fish down between her legs, after they’ve finished curling gentle circles on your face, she gives you a push. With a single, good jam from her thumb, you’re up to your neck in sweltering, strident leg landmass. A couple of easy shuffles later, you’re faced directly to your sister’s torso, or rather, the lower reaches of it, shrouded mostly in shadow, but unmistakably in a secret coven now amidst the tangle of thigh flesh and shorts with your sister’s crotch.

            You can’t see the screen, nor do you particularly care to when your current view is so much better, but by the sounds, you can make out what’s happening. You know this bit. A bubble pops, and the digitally miniaturized actors go tumbling down toward a lake of chip dip.

            “Oh, God…” Carly mumbles under her breath, the syllables ribbed. Her crystal blue eyes are engorged and glued to the screen, while her hand is wandering down her stomach and toward the elastic waistline of her track shorts. Her fingers sink below the line and out of direct sight, fumbling with her undergarments.

            Of course, you have a direct view of the bulging digits rifling with the fabric, a mere inch away from the end of your nose. Almost immediately, the air is altered. It’s her air.

            “Ugh. Why couldn’t she eat one of them? Why’d they have to get away? You know? Why couldn’t she swallow her dad on a chip?”

            Her fingers pick up their pace beneath the curtains of her shorts. Knuckles digging at her panties, thrusting and prodding with musical finesse. The sudden display is nothing short of startling. You’re perfectly aware of just how into this unique lifestyle your sister is, and she’s been personally responsible now for more of your orgasms per capita in your lifetime than most horny teenagers with a box of tissues and lube bottle, and yet, it occurs to you.

            You’ve never seen this. You’ve never watched your sister reach her own climax. It almost seems selfish in retrospect.

            “It’s so fucking stupid how they didn’t get eaten,” she moans. “There’s no way they should’ve gotten away. They were right there, on the end of her fingers, by her mouth… God, isn’t it awful?”

            “Y-Yeah…” you breathe, huffing the sticky air. A shudder ticks down your spine.

            “Gotcha, didn’t I?” Carly snorts.

            Her sultry, flowing movements instantly return to their less formal protocols as she reaches for you with the very hand she just used to fish down into her panties. Her slender digits close gently around you on all sides, plucking you from your deep seat between her thighs. It’s hard not to be disappointed, until you regain your bearings.

            Despite the fact that her supposedly instinctive masturbation prompt over giant teenage girls nearly eating their dads was a practical joke on you, the glistening on the tips of Carly’s index and middle fingers can’t lie. Not to mention the sharp, humidly oiled scent surrounding you as the girl lifts you up. Her wet fingertip slides on the small of your bare back.

            There was definitely penetration, joke or not.

            “Uhh… you sure did, big sissy,” you say. Stealthily, you lean in just a little nearer to her gleaming, peachy fingertips and inhale again. You can feel your nerve endings come alive.

            “Nah… I don’t really want them to eat the dads. What fun is that?” Carly explains, her voice dropping to a rhetorical octave. “Okay, so they get eaten and pooped out and whatever. And that’s all? No, no, it’s a lot better if they find them, and realize how much good their little boys can do if they keep them around, in a nice safe place.”

            You shake your head ‘yes’ with vigorous abandon. Your whole existence centers around this specific principle of Carly’s, really, so it wouldn’t make sense for you to do anything but bob your head in crazy succession.

            “I guess it must be hard for you to see way down there, huh?” Carly proffers with sudden aggressive sympathy. She puffs her lower lip out in a mock-whine, and bats her eyes. “Was I making you miss the movie cuz I was thinking about it too much, little bro?”

            “Uhhh… maybe a little,” you admit, nuzzling against her fingers, feeling your skin stick slightly to the gummy, air-dried residue of your sister’s essence still smeared across her flesh. “But I didn’t mind.”
            “You sure you didn’t? I’d hate for you to miss the show, since it’s kinda about you, really.”

            “It’s okay, Carly. Honestly.”

            “Pinky promise?” she wheedles cutely. Cupping you into the center of the same hand, she arches her own pinky, caressing it across the leftover opalescence of her other digits, until the tips each share a few dots of her fluids. She smirks.

            “Pinky promise,” you reassure.

            “Kiss it to make me believe you?” Her precious smile flashes to one of devious joy you’ve come to know and worship so well. The pinky arches down into the curved bowl of her palm containing your hapless body, strokes along your thigh, past your awakened erection, and up to your face.

            You comply, of course. A silent prayer of gratitude goes up that you didn’t even have to be the immodest one and ask. She just offered.

            Your lips meet the silken, ruddy tip of her pinky. It’s all you can do not to descend into an all-out make-out. She giggles warmly above.

            “Lick it to make me believe you,” she repeats with the incremental word change, but the note of a questioning request is gone. This is a loving command.

            And a command which you follow before the sound has finished exiting her lips. You lap the full length of the oval painted on her skin, feeling the gooey remains from her holy place resuming their gleaming liquid state on the back of your throat. She’s warm. So are you now.

            “Good boy,” she congratulates, resting her head back against the couch pillows as though nothing strange had happened, when, in the flash of her blues, you can see she knows, too, what just happened was new and different. And important.

            It’s hard to say what happened in the rest of the movie. The regularly scheduled proceedings of Honey, We Shrunk Ourselves could’ve been suddenly intercut with sixty minutes of detective noir followed by communist propaganda and hardcore amateur fisting and you would’ve been none the wiser. Right now, there is nothing around you but your sister’s all-encompassing, velvety palm. An island. A paradise.

            For the rest of the show, and the day, all you need to keep yourself occupied is run your tongue along the back of your throat, reminding yourself of the gift she gave you, still lingering with its harsh, pungent, sweet terms on your uvula.

            Things are changing. Good things.

 

End Notes:

Please comment!

Chapter 16: Her Giant Little Toy (Part 3) by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

Jack imagines a reality where he didn't shrink, but still remains a powerless toy for his sister's use and enjoyment. Part 3.

Carly flosses your tongue between each of her strong toes. She’s actually doing most of the work, despite your newfound capacity to do so at your “normal” sized body in this strange dreamland. Your sister begins a cycle by sliding your muscle between her big and second toes, the side of your lip clamped in the adjoining toe crevice, to ensure you keep your jaw wide for her.

            Not that she needs to do this, of course; you’d keep your mouth open twenty-four hours in spite of the pain if she requested it.

            Once set, she washes her skin against your tongue, working the curved grooves and bell-end tips of her digits around each sly side of your wet extremity. Flavors of long-dormant grit and sleep-sweat flow happily down your throat. On every chance she gets, she massages her toes against the insides of your gums, pressing hard enough that your cheeks bulge as though full of food.

            Though this is far better than anything she might feed you for actual sustenance.

            Satisfied with the cleanliness of that toe crevice, Carly shifts herself again. Her big and second toes shift to grasping the opposite side of your lip, while her next pair of toes become the object of your affections. It’s tougher to get your tongue quite so deep into this little fleshy canyon of your sister’s skin, now that you’re physically larger than she is, but you make it work. You always make it work. She still expects the same attention be paid, rolling the bead of her toe against the back of your tongue, almost daring you to gag, but you never do. You’re rewarded with a scrunch of her digits that releases tastes of feminine grime anew. Then comes the next toe crevice, and the next. Once you’ve completed that foot, it swaps positions with the other, and you give the next one the same service.

            Then it all starts again in a happy cycle.

            Your little sister keeps her leg crossed over her knee, so it will comfortably reach your jaw. The foot not being serviced resides in your lap, coyly rubbing her heel down at your member through your pants, never letting it get too excited, as you have to keep this up all day.

            However, she also seems intent on keeping you in a constant state of barely-awoken arousal, as once she feels your pants tent beginning to wilt, her toes grasp at the crotch again, searching and caressing the tip until you rise up to half-mast again, whereupon she rests her heel comfortably and heavily down against your rod. This system of expert give-and-take spurs you to continue your work with increasing zeal.

            All of this takes place, of course, while you sit below her desk in a full classroom in the very front row, where absolutely everyone can see you.

            Her teacher droning on and lecturing from the blackboard, scribbling out pre-algebra equations. A brightly lit space full of younger onlookers, in full view of you and your unique tasks for their popular peer. A perfectly ordinary room. Except for you, the nearly-adult age boy sprawled at the feet of his younger sister, sucking lovingly on her toes while her opposite foot publicly and obviously teases your crotch.

            You have to admit to yourself, in this bizarre new state of being, separate from your comfortable reality of residing at almost three inches in height, you were skeptical. It was hard to step into this classroom this morning. It wasn’t skepticism of your need to service Carly, of course; you understand that need better than you understand your own existence.

            No, the real question was whether this act would be accepted in her classroom. For years, you and your domineering sister have carried on your secret games, cloaked from the rest of a justifiably judgmental world who have no reason or context to accept your goddess-ant partnership.

            But no one has said a single thing to you. Not a word of rebellion. Sure, you’ve got plenty of eyes on you. Many of the girls smile sunbeams in your direction any chance they get, their eyes glowing green with envy for what Carly is receiving now. They duck down slightly to get a good look at you down under the desk, some of them even waving a few fingers as a silent hello. The boys, meanwhile, stare at you with raised eyebrows and stiff lips, a look of stoicism you can read right through: they’re envious too, of course, but of you. Granted, amidst the looks of yearning in the faces of the onlookers, there could very well be girls who wish they were in your place and boys who wish they were in Carly’s; your sister just has that effect on people, creating sources of desire from almost nothing.

            “And that about wraps up the lesson for today. And look, with five whole minutes to spare! What a nice, cool teacher I am,” the woman at the front of the room announces with a sarcastic lilt and a chuckle. You hear her shoes thumping softly on the carpet just a few feet away from you as she wanders the front of the room. “I can’t let you wander the hallways before the bell, but you can feel free to socialize amongst yourselves.”

            A rumble of chitchat quickly spreads across the room in the intervening seconds. Backpacks are zipped and feet shuffle as students rise up from their chairs. At long last, though you weren’t necessarily waiting for it with much pleasure, Carly swipes her big toe one final time along each of your inner cheeks, then pries it from your suckling lips.

            Before you can wonder if she wants you to arise just yet, Carly takes hold of the loose red dog leash in her hand, wrapping it back around her wrist several times to shorten it. Then she simply takes to petting the top of your head, running her smooth fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp under her broad palm. That’s good enough incentive for you to stay put.

            “Well, Carly, I have to say. I’m quite impressed.” The voice of the teacher sounds out from somewhere behind and above you, as you remain seated with your back to the front of the room, Carly’s legs your only real concern, as you’ve taken to caressing your younger sister’s firm calves while she strokes your hair.

            “Thanks, Mrs. Wittelman,” your sister says cheerily, clearly not at all questioning what she’s impressed over. Carly’s hand travels from the top of your head down to your chin, which she props gently higher.

            “I really do mean it. I’ve seen service dogs less well-trained than this young man down here.” You feel a foreign set of fingers on the back of your head as the teacher bends down, giving you a friendly pat.

            “That means a lot,” Carly insists genuinely. Your sister lifts her bare foot, pressing it into your chest, and gives you a good enough heave that you instantly flop in reverse onto your back. Her heel comes to rest against your inner thigh, her toes curled over the crest of your pants tent, while you stare up blinkingly from the carpet at the average-sized but comparatively towering form of your sister’s math teacher. You’re completely still.

            “Well, hi there, fella,” the woman says, addressing you directly, and surprising you slightly, given how she began this conversation by speaking to Carly on your behalf. She waves from above, a motherly smile crossing her lips. The glow of the ceiling lights frame her face.

            “H-Hello,” you peep awkwardly, flicking your fingers at her. It occurs to you that she’s the first person besides your wonderful sister whom you’ve interacted with in this bizarre amendment to your normally shrunken reality. Really, when you think about it, aside from Sophie, Chloe, Jenny, and one other drunken incident from your teen years, this is the first adult to have acknowledged your existence in five years. It’s a little jarring.

            “A little shy with strangers, is he?” Mrs. Wittelman asks, diverting her gaze away from you just as quickly as she granted it.

            “Sometimes. We’re working on that,” your sister says apologetically. She applies pressure into the foot poised over your thigh, squeezing the arch of her foot down against your balls through the pants. You puff softly, readjusting yourself, and stay still. “He has his own way of saying hello, though, that he’s a lot better at than talking, if you ask me.”

            “Oh? And what way might that be?” Mrs. Wittelman laughs.

            “Why don’t you give him a try?” Carly offers softly. Her leg arcs forward, her perfect peachy toes splayed and parted as they lower toward your face. With expert precision, she encourages your lip open with a flick of her digits.

            “Don’t mind if I do,” Mrs. Wittelman responds, sliding her left foot out of her sandal. “I hope I’m doing this right.”

            “There isn’t a wrong way,” Carly promises.

            By this point, more than a few of the other students have gathered around to watch, encircling your prone form as the teacher stands above your head on one leg, her bare, mature foot hovering above your face. Her skin is decidedly prunier than you’re used to, given her approach toward middle age, but at the same time, the look of those deep, plush wrinkles traversing her sole like a road map, coupled with the gloss of sandal sweat, is more than enough to get your mouth watering. She plasters her arch snugly over your mouth, and you’re all too willing to begin lapping and nibbling at will.

            “Oooh!” the woman murmurs. She rocks her foot from side to side, giving you ample opportunity to taste both sides of its firm shape. “I suppose you’re right, Carly. There isn’t a wrong way to do it. Hello to you too… Jack, isn’t it?”

            “That’s right,” Carly responds proudly, her toes bouncing above your nethers.

            “Wow,” a voice from the cluster of crowding students standing above you says.

            “Looks… kinda fun,” another voice comments from the opposite side, though you can’t see the owner of either statement.

            “Can I try, Carly?” a third voice requests. “Please?”
            “There’s still like three minutes before the bell,” another teen helpfully notes. By now, it seems the entire class is pushing and shoving one another to get a look at you lying on the floor, your sister’s feet resting on your thighs and obvious erection, while the math teacher gets a tongue bath on her tired peds.

            “All right, but just this one time,” your sister warns sternly. You can tell she means it, even as her tone is cracked by a smile at all the attention her well-trained pet is receiving on her account. She’s soaking up the attention right now, as is only right. With some palpable regret as she drags her toes back over your teeth a final time, Mrs. Wittelman pulls her now-wet foot away from your hungry lips.

            And so it begins, with more than half the students of your little sister’s pre-algebra class lining up patiently for their turn. You take a deep breath, swallow, and smack your lips a few times in preparation for the mini marathon.

            You’re faced with an almost overwhelming smorgasbord of eager feet. Some of the initial takers seem to have an affinity for pedicures: you’re treated to a delicious set of toes, flavored with some sort of apricot lotion, tanned to golden perfection and painted a pretty hot-pink. Another bears baby-blue-spotted nails, with a more tropical flowery flavor, mixed with the rubber of her sandals.

            Then come the feet bearing flavors you’re a little more used to. Stained with muck from the straps of sandals and flip-flop thongs, these peds also tend to come with more aggressive owners. Even in partial shadow, you can see the dusty imprints caked along soles and insteps, clearly unbothered about all the mess that’s about to be put in your mouth. More than once, you’re almost gagged as a big toe attempts to deep-throat you. Along the way, a veritable cesspool of fleshy spices wash down your throat and almost choke you in the way the squirming digits can’t quite reach.

            Still, some of the samplers are wearing tennis shoes, and don’t bother to remove their socks before testing you. Not that you necessarily have a problem with that, it’s just not what you’re used to. You receive several mouthfuls of cotton, some of it white and fluffy indicating new footwear, but just as many socked feet coated with grit and grime on the bottom, thinned over so many usages you can taste the grease-soaked geometry of the hard foot beneath.

            Through it all, perhaps to keep you happy and calm, and maybe more importantly, to remind you of where your truest loyalties lie, Carly keeps both of her feet crossed squarely across your crotch like a coffee table. With your member bent awkwardly to the side of your thigh in your pants under her heels, Carly’s spongy toes occasionally give your dick’s head a taunting squeeze through the layers of fabric. A show of gratitude for your cooperation.

            The bell rings. Though there are still takers in line waiting for a turn to be washed by you, none of them leave their place, even as the seconds begin ticking by for them to reach the next class. Mrs. Wittelman seems not to mind, either.

            When the last student has had a chance by effectively standing on your head and stopping off your airways with her pudgy heel, you’re left slightly worse for wear: your throat dry, a cough forming in your windpipes, and your pink-swollen face speckled with grit, dust, and flaked sweat from half a room full of Carly’s peers. Still, you can’t help but smile. Not because you necessarily enjoyed what just happened, but because of the grin your sister grants you as she rises from her desk and comes around to get a better look at you, her head cocked and her hands on her hips.

            You must have done well. You hope you did.

            “Come up, little bro,” Carly instructs, giving your leash a friendly tug. “Don’t worry, it’ll just be the two of us playing for the rest of the day. But we’ve got a big day ahead of us, don’t we?”

 

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