You open your eyes, your vision fuzzy.  You’re sitting in a plastic chair in a white room, roughly twenty by twenty feet, with ten foot ceilings.  There’s not a single other thing in the room.  It’s so surreal to look around like this, to be sitting in a chair like a normal person.  Where are you?  Could this be a dream?  It can’t be a dream; everything seems so lifelike.

                You turn around at your neck, looking behind you.  And there, leaning against the white wall, arms crossed, wearing a tight blue tank top, skinny jeans, and pink flip-flops, is Carly, looking down at the ground.  She’s normal sized now, roughly five inches shorter than you like usual.

                You stand up with a start, backing away.  You’re not sure what it is that gives you this initial shock of nervousness; it must either be the sudden realization that you appear to be normal sized again, or the fact that, whatever size she happens to be, the mere sight of Carly will fill you with fear.

                “CARLY?” you utter in shock, backing up until you feel yourself hit the back wall.  You look down at yourself.  You’re wearing a white t-shirt and jeans.  No shoes.  It feels comforting to be wearing clothes again.

                Without a word, Carly uncrosses her arms, and begins sauntering across the room, slowly, toward you, confidence in ever stride.  “What’s up, bro?” she says sarcastically, looking up at your face as she stops walking roughly a foot away from you.

                “W-Where are we?” you say uncertainly, looking around.

                “Hey.  I’m talking to you, bro,” she says suddenly, jamming a pointer finger into your chest.  You look back down at her, a little surprised.

                “Carly!  What… how did… how am I back…”

                “What are you talking about, bro?”

                “What do you THINK I’m talking about?  I’m talking about the fact that I’m not SMALL anymore!  Are we in a hospital?  What’s going on?”

                She gives you a look of craziness.  “Why do you always have to say stupid things, bro?  Why can’t you talk like a normal person to me.  Seriously.  And everything you say to me is mean.  You know, every other guy I meet says nice things to me, except you.  You just push me around.”

                The surreal feeling washes back over you as Carly repeats almost the exact phrasing from your breakfast at the kitchen table over a week ago, at normal size.  You shake your head around, trying to clear the oddness flooding your mind.

                “Didn’t you… already…” you begin, not sure how to start, more confused than ever.

                “Shut up, Jack,” she says harshly, jamming her finger back at your chest, speaking no differently than when she had your cowering, naked form in her cold palms.

                “Okay…” you say out of instinct, then scold yourself mentally for the rut you’ve gotten into.  “I mean, NO.  No, I’m not going to shut up.  I don’t HAVE to any more, Carly.”

                “Oh, no?” she says, grinning slyly, apparently amused by your realization.

                “No, I don’t…” you add, and then just tack the last part on because you’ve been wanting to for a while now: “I don’t have to do ANYTHING you tell me to anymore, you moronic bitch.”

                Carly’s face remains stone for a second, then you see her rearing her arm backward, preparing for a punch.  This ought to be good, you think.  Your little sister punching you in the gut.  You don’t even bother putting your arms up to block her.  Her fist slams your stomach, and it’s with such concussive force that you actually see green, flashing spots in your eyes.  You make a slight choking sound, doubling over slightly.  It feels like a car just hit you in the stomach.

                “Actually, Jack, you kind of do…” says Carly simply.  She latches her hands around your shoulders, then swings around, powerfully.  You fly through the air, going back several feet and smacking into the back of the plastic chair in the middle of the room, reeling on the ground.  You gasp for air, shocked beyond belief, unable to accept what just happened: the strength Carly seems to have.

                “OH MY GOD. How?  How-How did YOU…” you squeal pathetically, suddenly filled with the fear again.  You back away quickly on your hands and ankles like a crab.  Your little sister walks calmly towards you, stopping just above you.

                “Shut up, Jack, and listen to me.  You can’t TALK to me that way.  I’m a WOMAN.  I’m a person, and I won’t let you push me around like that…” she says.  She places her foot, still wearing the foam flip-flop onto your ankle and presses downward.  It’s the equivalent of having a hammer ground down onto your leg.  You moan in pain for a second, pretty positive that she just broke your ankle.  She flexes her heel onto it, jamming downward harder with almost no actual muscular effort.

                “ARRGHHH!  Carly!  WHAT?” you say, again terrified and confused by the sheer, disproportionate power and strength radiating from your younger sister.  You start to lean up, but you suddenly feel the powerful smack of the pink foam hitting your chest, instantly knocking you back down, the wind knocked out of you thoroughly with a simple tap.

                “Don’t get up yet.  I can’t believe you.  I just can’t believe you.  You’re just amazing.  You get all these opportunities to make everything better again, and you keep blowing them.  You’re ridiculous,” she says, reshifting her foot back to your ankle, continuing to press into it, paining you deeply.  You grunt.

                “Carly… please, just tell me what’s going on…”

                “Shut up.  I’m talking to you, and I want you to LISTEN,” she growls, grinding a little harder down onto you ankle on the final word.  “Are you listening to me now, bro?”

                “Y-Yeah…” you say, still struggling to catch your breath.

                “Good.  Now, I think you’re going to apologize to me.”

                Again, the returning memories, all mashing together.  What’s going on?  Carly’s words, so angry and powerful, reminding you of things she said either in her gigantic form, or over a week ago when she was trying to take the upper hand in your troubled sibling bond.  They’re all familiar, and yet they’re not meshing together properly; it’s like watching disjointed and mismatched scenes from movies you can’t quite remember the titles of.

                “I…”

                “If you say another word other than “sorry,” I’m going to break your ankle,” she says calmly, continuing the pressure.  You swallow, nodding.

                “I’m sorry.”

                “Louder.”

                “I’M SORRY!”

                Your ankle is released, throbbing with pain as your sister plants her foot back on the ground with a loud pound.  “Good.  That was the first part.”

                “First part?”

                She smirks.  “You really think you can undo it all with just two words?  Now, it’s time for the second part.”

                “And what’s that?”

                She smiles.  “You’re going to sniff my feet for me.”

                Hopelessly lost now in the hazy surrealistic world you seem to now inhabit, you shrug, knowing that whatever the hell is going on, your sister is causing extreme pain to you somehow, and your best option is to do anything possible to avoid furthering it.  Even though she appears normal sized, her strength seems to be on par with that of her gigantic self, concentrated into her average-sized limbs.  You gulp.

                “Okay.”

                “Good boy.  Now go ahead.  Sniff,” she says, extending her foot, still wearing the flip-flop. 

                “What do I…”

                “Take off the shoe.  You can’t smell it right with the shoe on.”

Your hands shaking in fear, you take your fingers around the top of your sister’s powerful foot, your thumbs under the pink flip-flop, and begin sliding them apart.  Carly’s foot flesh feels unremarkable; there’s not a single thing suggested from this physical touch that this foot is probably capable of stomping a hole right through your stomach in a single strike.  Gripping the base of the flip-flop, your hands still quivering, you lift it off the bottom of her foot.

                “Where do I…” you start to say, looking at the flip-flop.

                “God, you’re kind of useless without me giving you directions every two seconds,” says Carly in a whiny, irritated voice.  “How about you smell it first?”

                “Smell the…”

                “Yes, the shoe.  Stick my shoe over your nose right now.”

                You do so almost immediately.  You honestly can’t smell anything other than the tinge of dirt and the fresh, rubbery smell of the pink foam shoe, which is sort of fortunate.  After lightly sniffing at it for a few minutes, Carly speaks up.

                “Okay, that’s fine.  Toss it to the side.”  You do so.  “Now… sniff my foot, for real,” she says, gleefully, wiggling her toes over your stomach.  You wait.  “Well, I’m not going to do it all for you, bro.  Come and get it. And it better not be one your wimpy sniffs. Smell hard. Breathe in until you can't anymore."

                You inch your butt along the floor a few more inches, getting closer to the foot, still raised over you a couple of feet at least.  It’s now directly above your face.  You look up at her, and her face doesn’t change.  You get it now.  You reach up, wrapping your hands around the smooth foot flesh on the sides, your thumbs pressing into your sister’s supple sole.  Then, realizing what is capable of happening in this room, you pull yourself upward to the foot so you can reach it.  Carly maintains perfect balance as you lift part of you body weight off the ground and up to the foot, supported entirely by her one leg.

                You stop your nose an inch or so from the soft sole.  You take a practice sniff, gulp in defeat, then start to sniff harder.  The musty haze of fruity body wash soap is there.  The old, soggy smell of rain water collecting on her foot returns to your nose.  The rotting sweat collected in clumps between her toes, just for you.  It’s all there, and suddenly it’s filling your nose back up, but this time it’s just as strong as when you were forced to smell her foot at only a few inches tall.  You cough hard, turning your head to the side for some fresh air.  As you do, your sister’s foot suddenly comes down hard on your face, pinning it to the ground.  While she’s not actually crushing your head like she was your ankle, it’s firmly in place enough that you can tell you are completely incapable of moving your head right now.

                “That’s good, isn’t it, bro?”

                You try to nod, but her foot barely allows any motion.

                “I thought so.  I got it ready just for you, because I know you like how much my feet smell,” she says smugly.  You feel her toes starting to ripple, getting into your hair and spreading the dried sweat and toe jam throughout.  “But what I know you like even BETTER, though, is how my feet TASTE…” she says with a cute little giggle, her filthy toes settling into your hair.  You groan, breathing out heavily.  Somehow, you had a sneaking suspicion this part was coming up.

                “Stick out your tongue, bro,” she commands powerfully, yanking her foot out of your hair and off your head, releasing the pressure.  You obey, of course, sticking it out and waiting, closing your eyes so you don’t have to watch.  “Open your eyes again.  You’re going to look at it,” she says simply, tapping your eyelids with a big toe.  Steadily, you open them back up and look up at the youthful and cute face of your little sister, hiding the command of a drill sergeant, the power of a raging goddess, and the sickening cruelty of a kid holding a magnifying glass over an ant in the sun.  “That’s better,” she continues, moving her foot down to about an inch over your face and mouth.  “Now lick, on my heel.  I want the whole thing wet.”

                Still coughing from the intense, sweaty stench, you bite the bullet and stretch out your tongue, slowly and still fearful, from between your lips.  You tap it at first, trying to sum up the courage.

                “If you don’t start licking soon, bro, I’m going to jump on your stupid, fat head.  Now get to work, right now,” she says sternly.  You have a feeling she means it.  You jam your tongue all the way out, pressing it against your sister’s repulsive foot, tasting the flavors once again: the bland, musty scent of her wrinkled heel flesh.  The bitter, dirty sting.  The old, stagnant dew collected in the wrinkles.  The drying sweat, encrusted in a thin layer over her heel.  You take in the many tastes, sliding your tongue all over your sister’s heel, fighting back the coughing as you do, pointing your tongue and cleaning out the grooves of her heel wrinkle.  After ten minutes or so of this, your tongue beginning to get dry from being used for so long, the foot comes away from your face and slams onto the ground next to you.  You swallow a few times, wanting so badly for the feeling of fleshy sudor to be expelled from your mouth, the lingering flavor of your sister’s foot refusing to back off from your throat.

                “That was pretty good, bro.  I accept your apology…”

                Thank God.

                “…for cussing at me, anyway.  But I’m not the only one you owe an apology to.”

                From out of the corner of your eye, up above, you see none other than Jenny Sheller, stepping into your line of view, wearing a basketball penny and workout shorts.  She smiles down at you, putting her hands on her hips, as Carly puts her arm around Jenny, grinning down at you.

                Now getting terrified by the seeming ability of people in this room to pop in and out at will, you start to stand up, frantically.  As you do, Jenny reaches down, grabbing the scruff of your shirt and helping you stand up faster.  However, as you stand up, you feel your feet leave the ground as Jenny lifts you in the air with one arm, holding you at her highest reaching point, leaving you hopelessly out of touch with the ground.  You gasp lightly, looking down at the ground, at the single arm holding you up, and at Jenny’s smirking face.  You grab ahold of the arm, trying to push it down.  Jenny is very athletic and in great shape, and her biceps are reasonably decent sized for an 8th grade girl.  But, they’re definitely not bodybuilder arms either.  Confused, you grab at her arms fruitlessly, trying to push downward, her arm easily thinner than either one of your arms, standing firmly in place.  She’s just as strong as Carly.

                As you shift your hands to Jenny’s fingers, digging deeply into your shirt to hold you up, to no avail, Jenny starts laughing.  “You said he was tough, girl, but he doesn’t seem very tough to me.  Look at him.  I don’t even think he can get my hand off his shirt,” she says, looking over at the giggling Carly.  You continue trying to get your fingers into the closed palm of Jenny’s massive hand, but it’s no use; they’re rock solidly in place.  “That’s it, runt,” says Jenny to you, despite the fact that you’re an inch taller.  “You can do it.  I BELIEVE in you,” she says sarcastically.  Angered now, you reach your arms down at her shoulders, grabbing on to them.  Instantly, Jenny releases you to the ground with a smack, following you down.  Before you can hope to try and get up, she sits on you, right on your crotch, applying pressure.

                “Hope this doesn’t hurt you too much,” says Jenny, wiggling her ass around on top of your dick through your jeans.  “Although… I’ll bet it doesn’t.  It doesn’t feel like you’ve got much of anything down there,” she says, giggling heartily.  You try to raise your upper torso, but instantly Jenny has her massive hand covering your face, palming it up and smacking it back to the ground with a hard shove.  “I don’t remember telling you you were allowed to sit up yet,” she says.  “Now… I want to talk about you.  I tried to help your sister out a little, but that didn’t seem to do anything to you.  You looked like an even bigger jerk after we did it, actually…” she says, grinning.  “And I don’t remember hearing you recognize what you did.”

                You gulp, knowing what’s coming up again.  You resolve to get it out of the way, for once actually sort of meaning what you say in your apology.  “Look, Jenny… I… I really AM sorry about what I said, I don’t mean to do things like that, I was just mad at Carly…” you begin, but suddenly her massive hand is covering your mouth up.

                “Don’t even try.  That’s not what I mean,” she says, uncovering your mouth.

                “What do you mean?”

                “Well, we can’t let your sister have all the fun, can we?” she says cheerfully.  “Okay, big boy.  Open your mouth.”

                “My m-”

                The hand flesh is smushing back into your mouth before you can even finish the second word.  “I didn’t say talk to me, I said open your mouth.”

                You do, hesitantly.  Leaning over you, you watch as Jenny makes a hocking sound in the back of her throat, before spitting a large mucus and spit wad right into your mouth.  You retch for a second.

                “Don’t spit it out or I’ll do it again.  Don’t spit it out.  Swallow it.  Swallow.”

                You do, begrudgingly, the disgusting zing of Jenny’s mouth invading your throat; you can taste the bacteria-covered back tongue, the gooey, thicker spittle in the back of her throat, the vague hint of some kind of sharp cheese as it slides slowly down your throat.

“Now open up again.  You’ll need all the space you can get this time.”

                Gulping fresh air, you do it, opening your mouth wide and swallowing the last remnants of Jenny’s spit.  You then watch as Jenny pulls herself a little further back onto your crotch so she has room to bend her legs.  Pointing an extremely large, size 10 bare foot, she moves it toward your mouth.  Instinctively, you start to close your lips, without thinking.

                “What are you doing?  Keep your mouth open, jerk,” she sneers at you.  Her big toe playfully crosses the threshold of your lips.  She then pushes in, jamming as much of her right foot into your mouth as you can hold, fitting in her first three toes and almost a fourth. 

“Now suck on it,” she says, chuckling at you pitifully.  And you do.

Immediately, you begin to choke, trying to pull back, but she pushes down so hard that you can’t move your head off the ground.  You feel her toes inside your cheeks, mushing into the sides.  You feel two of her long toes find the edge of your tongue and begin pinching it between them, grinding along it, forcing you to lick between her toes inside your mouth.  You taste an awful, rubbery kind of scent from her used gym shoes.  The sweat and other flavors similar to Carly’s foot are all there, but somehow they tasted a little more mild and sweet on Carly’s foot, despite their existing impact there.

                “Suck harder,” she orders sternly.  And you do.

                Your eyes begin to water, trying to contain the putrid punch packed by the terrible, grimy coating all over Jenny’s foot.  You feel it melting off of her foot in the heat of your mouth, the dried sweat covering her foot becoming liquid again, leaking down your tongue and into your throat like poison, and there’s not a thing you can do.  Panicking, you try and cough, but no air comes out your mouth.  You breathe heavily through your nose, trying to get some fresh air.

                “Whoops.  Looks like I forgot to close up the other opening,” says Jenny coyly, and suddenly her other foot is snaking up to your nose; she presses two of her large toe tip pads against your nostrils, forcing every breath you take to be filtered through the dirty, sweaty cover over your mouth and nose.  Finding some extra room in your mouth, she jams deeper, her toes so close to the back of your throat that you can actually feel the top of her actual foot resting on your lips, hard, holding you down with some extra leverage.  You continue to lay here, this Amazon sitting hard on your poor dick, one foot jammed hard into your mouth, the other blocking off your fresh air supply at your nose.  You actually begin to get blurry vision, almost ready to pass out from the sheer, vile impulses being transmitted to your brain.

                After in an inordinately long time, you feel Jenny’s damp foot retracting from your mouth and nose, her tough gluts sitting up off your dick.  You open your eyes just as Carly steps right onto your stomach, not pressing particularly hard, but you can tell you aren’t even remotely capable of throwing her off of you.  Jenny stands behind your head, and begins working her long toes into your hair, twisting it around her toes in strands.

                “I’m glad to see you’ve begun to respect us, bro,” says Carly calmly.  You nod in the affirmative.

                “Now, I’ve just got one thing I’m curious about.”

                “What?”

                “Well…” she says with a girly grin.  “I just KNOW you love the taste of feet so much, so here’s what I want to know.  Who’s foot tastes better, mine or Jenny’s?”

                “Errr…” you say, pretty positive that there’s no correct answer, or, at the very least, no answer that WON'T end with you getting another moutful of sweaty, grimy toes.

                “Answer me, bro,” says Carly, her bare foot pressing down against your rib cage like a trash compactor.  You grunt, then right yourself.

                “I… I… I guess, um, yours did…”

                “MINE?  That’s very sweet of you, bro.  Here, have some more…” she says, the evil grin stretched across her face as her bare foot finds its way to your lips.  “Open wide, here comes the airplane,” she says playfully, and you do, allowing your sister’s toes to creep inside your mouth, her dried sweat and dew coated digits effectively raping your taste buds.  "Now do the same thing to mine that you did to Jenny's," she giggles maliciously, and you do, reluctantly, so beyond humiliated you're beginning to think you'd prefer your super-strong sibling simply stomping through your head and ending this.  "THERE we go..." she murmurs softly and frighteningly gently to you as you begin sucking obediently on her toes.  "That's how I like you..."

                You awake with a start, seeing that you’re no longer in the white room.  It was just another nightmare.  You look around.  And then you remember.  You’re sitting cross-legged, your head bowed down to make room, inside your little sister’s mouth in a pool of hot saliva that currently sits at the level of your crotch in the sticky, sweltering hovel, Carly’s powerful tongue wrapped partially around your nude body in a soppy, musky embrace.