“You think you’re some big macho man, huh?” says Carly childishly, clearly making fun of you.  “All you do is push me around or trip me or shove me, and you think you can do it because you’re so much bigger than me,” she says, the anger rising.  “Well… you WERE bigger than me, anyhow.”

                You, still crouching on the couch cushion after having your senses nearly broken by the mere smell of Carly’s sweaty, disgusting feet, try to sum up the strength to stand up, but you honestly feel too sickened and terrified to move.

                “But you’re not any more.  And you STILL don’t get it.  You’re not some big muscle man.  You can’t just go PUSHING people AROUND, Jack!” she hisses.

                “I… I know, I never meant to…”

                “SHUT UP.  You meant everything you did, because you thought you could get away with it.  But you can’t.  And you know what, little bro?  You’re going to KNOW what it feels like to have someone bigger, stronger, and meaner picking on you for no reason!”

                “I…”

                “So, you’re going to lay down.”

                “What?”

                “You heard me.  Sit down, then lay back.  All the way, on your back.  Flat.”

                “I... I…” you stammer.

                “Do it right now.”

                “Okay,” you say, quivering almost out of control as you roll back onto your ass and lay down.

                “Spread your arms and legs out, as far as you can,” she says next.

                “Uh-uh… okay, okay,” you say quickly, spreading yourself out.  Once again, you get the awful feeling of exposure, having yourself spread-eagled with your gift bag in plain sight of your little sister.  Prone and ready to take whatever she’s planning.

                “P-Please, Carly.  I apologized.  I smelled your foot for you.  I really AM sorry.”

                “Now hold still,” says your gargantuan sister, completely ignoring you.  Her right foot shifts as she begins stretching her leg back out, toward you.  Instead of going up straight, she gets her foot at a horizontal angle, wiggling her toes as they come lower and lower, moving mere inches above the couch, just enough space to fit you.  Underneath it.

                Instantly, you start to clamber away.  You try and pull yourself up, flailing your limbs around, but a second later it’s too late to do anything.  Carly’s big toe, juicy and pink, wrinkled and damp in all areas except the strip surrounding her nail beds, descends upon you and slams powerfully downward into your flattened abdomen.  She keeps consistent pressure trained down on you, holding you in place as she sets the rest of her foot down flat on the couch.  You can feel the slight bumpy ridges of her toe print, grinding across your chest and stomach.  She curls downward, pressing onto your entire lower torso, including your dick, sending a shock of pain to your brain.  Then, before it gets unbearable, she begins slowly flexing her toe over your midsection and legs, allowing your head and arms to move freely.  Every other part of your body is hopelessly pinned by the hulking, soggy mass of her big toe.

                Everything at your chest and below begins to go numb as your sister’s toe presses harder and harder into your naked body, not putting enough pressure on you to break bones or puncture your skin, but enough so that you have to take labored breaths through your sore lungs.  Ironically, this is a blessing, as it ensures that you don’t get massive inhalations of her foot stink anymore.  Still, even in your controlled breaths, the smell pervades the air so strongly it seems like it will stick to you forever.

                “Unnghh…” you groan, trying to shift your body into a position where your breaths are less sharp.  Beginning to panic, your breathing descends into quick little bursts of oxygen, stinging your nose with each one as a little bit of sweaty air sneaks back into your nostrils.  You stretch both arms upward and manage to wrap your hands up and around the top of your sister’s toe, latching your fingers together over the impenetrable, ivory shell of her toe nail.

                “This is it, little bro,” says Carly calmly, flexing her toe extra hard on these words.  “This is how you make me feel every time you push me or trip me.”  You feel your poor dick scrunched up into a massive fold of saturated toe flesh, and it feels like having your crotch get stuck in a trash compactor.  Your mind wallows in that special brand of pain that only comes when your crotch takes a severe blow, welling up from your abdomen and into your stomach.  To help curb the effects, you hug your arms hard around the dry tip of her toe to help distract yourself.  Naturally, it doesn’t really do anything.

                “GRAAUUUGHGHH!” you roar out of instinct as a particularly hard squeeze is performed on your lower body, your little sister’s damp big toe ridges again swallowing up your family jewels like a dust particle.  She giggles, and your mind is so locked on the absolute pain shooting up from your lower body, the sound is almost distant.

                “Does that hurt, little bro?  Does it hurt having someone a lot tougher than you beating you up just because she can?”

                “Y-Y…”

                “What’s that, Jack?”

                “YES!” you scream at the top of your lungs, in tandem with the pulsating rhythm of Carly’s toe, flexing out and in like a factory line machine.  Realizing that hugging yourself to her toe isn’t helping, you latch your fingers into the porous material of the side of Carly’s toe, so soft and plushy feeling with the water residue soaked into it so deeply.  You squeeze hard to help distract yourself, knowing that she must barely be feeling this pinching you’re doing.

                “Well, that’s GOOD then!” she barks out at you.  “So maybe in the future, you’ll remember this and remember what it FEELS like when someone is being a jerk to you just because they’re big enough.  Tell me, little bro.  Do you feel like a man right now?  Do you feel like a big macho muscle man right now?”

                “Nggghhh…” you moan again, clenching your fingers as hard as you can into the spongy flesh.

                “I can’t HEAR you!” she says.

                “N-N-N…”

                “Hmm… that’s funny, you’re not answering me.  You think you’re that tough, huh?  You think you’re just such a big man that you can sit there and tell me that you can take whatever happens to you?  Well, guess what, Mr. Muscles.  That’s NOT true!” she pouts, slamming a fist on the couch cushion.

                She points her toe, finally relieving the pressure on your crotch and legs, instead training all the weight of her toe right into your abs.  Your crotch, still burning from the pain, tries to recover as you feel the crushing strength bearing directly downward on you.  Carly lifts the rest of her foot into the air and shifts it directly above you, and begins to knead downward into you.  You look upward, watching her foot stretching upward for a ridiculous distance to her massive ankles, her veins crisscrossing thickly over the top of her foot, her other huge toes just out of reach wiggling and stretching to air out.

                You gasp for air, but find you can barely get any.  A thin whisper of oxygen trails into your lungs, and you gulp it down, more and more terrified with each passing second.  It occurs to you that if she presses much harder, your ribs are going to crack.  You’re certain there’s already strain on them.

                “Hulp…” you gasp desperately.  Then, more pressure comes.  Harder and harder, you are pressed down until the couch cushion begins to cave downward.  You grab for the sides and watch as they flow upward and past you.  It feels like you’re being buried alive in a couch cushion, courtesy of your little sister’s big toe.

                Finally, when your breathing gets so labored you know that in about thirty seconds you’re going to pass out, the pressure begins to back off slowly.  Air trickles into your lungs again as Carly’s toe rises upward, still holding you down against the cushion but allowing it to re-inflate.

                Then, finally, the cushion fully re-inflated, she releases her toe completely.  You take huge breaths now, your nose no longer even bothering to complain via pain about the fog of sweat and grime surrounding you.  At this point, breathing is the priority.

                “CARLY!” you scream at last, your throat having sufficient air to speak again.  “I’M SORRY!  PLEASE!  I KNOW I’M NOT A MACHO MAN!  I CAN’T DO ANYTHING TO STOP YOU!  I’LL DO ANYTHING YOU WANT, JUST STOP, PLEASE!” you yell out pleadingly, throwing out every phrase you think she wants to hear.

                There is no verbal response at first.  You look up at your sister’s face, still frozen in a deep frown.

                “No, you still don’t believe it.  You STILL don’t believe it,” she says finally.  You watch helplessly as her ankle turns at a slight angle, allowing her foot to turn at a 90 degree angle, putting it perpendicular to your body.  She raises it over you, her toes bending back and forth, her white soles flexing, and slowly begins lowering it towards you.

                You try to clamber to the side, rolling over several times, as it’s too difficult to stand on the bouncy floor of the couch, but once again it’s of no use.  Her foot quickly darts over, as she sees your escape attempt, and fully extends all the toes of her right foot.  Then, lowering them over you, she cages you between her outstretched toes and the top of the ball of her foot, scrunching your whole body up to fit.  Then, you feel her moist toes begin clenching, hard, against your arms, legs, and torso.  Your head is underneath the crevice of her big and second toes, allowing breathing space.  As all of her toes crush inward on you against the top of her foot, you begin to moan again, although more quietly this time.  You’re too spent to even put much effort into your responses to the soreness and pain.

                This goes on for a few minutes, her soggy toes clenching inward against your entire body.  You lay there, frozen, afraid that if you move an arm to try to block the hard blows of her flexing toes, one of your limbs will snap like a twig against the robust muscles of her long toes.  Finally, on an inward clench, they stop, just holding you.  Her toes begin to grow cold around you, but you still compress into them on the fleshy pads, although the bottoms of her feet are much rougher than her soft hands.  Thankfully, your dick is lodged safely between her pinky and fourth toe, saving it some of the pain the rest of your body is going through as your little sister methodically works your sore and aching form with her nauseating toes and foot.

                A moment of this continues, every square inch of the front of your body pressed hard into the casket Carly has formed for you out of her slimy foot flesh, until you feel movement.  Her toes clench harder than ever onto you, and you suck in your chest, pressing your arms in as far as they go to avoid further pain.  Then, you feel the fuzzy ground of the trampoline-like couch fall away, replaced with cool air on your aching back.  She’s raising her foot into the air, with you held firmly in her toes.

                You shut your eyes and clench your whole body, praying, for once, that her toes don’t let up the pressure on you, which would of course result in a painful plunge to the couch cushion now far too far away for a comfortable or safe landing.

                At long last, the intense soreness and seemingly endless line of tortuous activities begins to subside as you settle into the cracked groove of Carly’s toe crannies, and you finally have the chance to try and collect your thoughts.  Never, in your dizziest daydreams or even worst nightmares could you have fathomed what has happened to you in the past hour.  Your little sister, whom you’ve never been on good terms with but nonetheless is family, is doing nothing short of terrorizing your very life and causing physical harm to you using only her hands and feet, you utterly powerless to resist.  Not to mention the mind-blowingly humiliating methods she’s utilizing, attempting to destroy your spirit under her dehumanizing and filthy soles.

                You can face it: Carly’s not one particularly new to cruel and unusual punishment.  A week ago, you were forced to smell her filthy feet at normal size.  While it certainly didn’t involve harm or danger to you, the simple fact of the matter was that your sister, three years younger, had you so in her control she could compel you to jam your nose between her grody toes and inhale it hard, like you were her personal pet.

Sickeningly, it occurs to you that this event last week was not even the worst thing you've ever been forced to do.

                You try to think.  She’s done all of this to you; how is she going to get out of this when your parents come home?  You just know she hasn’t thought about it that far in advance, and Carly doesn’t do very well in decision-making under pressure.  If at all possible, more fear fills your mind.  What might she decide she has to do to ensure you don’t get her in trouble?

                Your mind snaps back to reality.  Carly’s foot stops at a vertical angle.  With a slight bump, you can feel her rest her ankle on the raised knee of her left leg, and tilt her ankle as far over as she can so that the top of her foot (and you) are able to see her face.  Through the crevice of her big and little toes, your chin resting on the smooth fleshy patch in between, you can see Carly’s upper torso and face looking at you, and for the first time in the last few minutes you see a smile cross your sister’s face.  Except it’s not the shockingly compassionate one you saw when she first picked you up from the ground, it’s that creeping grin of pure evil and self-indulgence.  The incredible delight she’s having in your total subjugation is frankly almost as scary as what she’s actually put you through.

                Your head jammed comfortably into the space, so completely at the mercy of her foot, you feel Carly’s big and second toes curl inward toward your head ever so slightly, the spongy sides of each toe caking your cheeks with the stagnant water.  You feel like you’re being placed in a guillotine.  You realize that, with just one quick muscle movement, Carly’s mammoth toes could pop your head like a grape.

                Carly calmly crosses her arms as if standing and talking to some friends at school.   Of course, the reality of the situation is that she has you, her older brother, wrapped precariously in a tube of soaked toe flesh, your face poking out from between the spaces of her thundering peds.

                “So, little bro…” says Carly finally.  “I think that, at this point, you should be able to understand that you aren’t so big and strong that you can just do whatever you want to people who are weaker than you.  Do you feel it, Jack?” she says.

                “W-What?” you ask.

                As if in answer, she flexes the two toes holding your head in place, wiping more water across your face from the groovy surface of her toe crevasse.  “I could snap your puny little neck if I wanted to, and do you know why?  Because I’m bigger than you, and stronger than you.  You’re not a macho man.  You’re little.  You’re so little you can’t even fight my toes off of you.  And you’re going to remember this,” she says.  “You are going to remember this, aren’t you?”

                “Yes!”

                “Do you still think you’re such a big man that you can beat people up for no reason?”

                “No!” you shriek.

                “That’s right, little bro.  You’re weak.  You’re just a tiny little weakling.  Isn’t that right?”

                “Yes!” you gasp hoarsely, feeling the shivering returning again.

                “What are you?” she says simply.

                “Weak.”

                “How weak are you?”

                “Really weak.”

                “GOOD,” she says with force.  With a jolt, she takes her crossed ankle off her knee and lowers it to the ground, slamming your back into the cushy couch.  Her toes release, and you are able to spread out, your body so tired, beat up, and melded with the whopping, stale smell of your sister’s awful and vengeful foot, you don’t even feel like you can move.  You open your weary eyes and look upward at Carly, who is now sitting Indian style and leaning far over to get a better look at you.  You almost have to remind yourself that sitting before you is your younger sister, not a terrible goddess of torture and pain.

                “That’s a good little boy,” she says sweetly, no differently than when she said it a week before.