You fly downward from what feels like a full story up in the air, crashing down into the cushy give of Carly’s bedspread.  You feel yourself black out for a moment, but suddenly you’re jolted awake again as your little sister’s thumb comes down hard on your stomach, pressing you into the bed.  You gulp for air, wrapping your arms around the humongous finger, ineffectively pressing upward into the grooves as they grind you downward.

                “It’s time for your last lesson, little bro.”

                “H-huh?”  you whimper.  She smirks, delighted at your inability to speak clearly.

                “That’s right.  This is your last lesson.  Do this, and I’ll take you to Mom and Dad, and they'll help you or something.”

                You look up, weakly, wondering if she’s telling the truth.

                “Really?” you squeak, helpless as the hope floods you again despite your better judgment.  Carly nods and chuckles.

                “Yeah.  Because after this, I won’t even need you to be tiny anymore.  After this, you’ll know exactly what you are to me, even if you’re regular.”

                You nod, not doubting a single word of the reasoning.  You know that what she really wants is to see you say it to her, “the phrase.”  And at this moment, death so near, not just the threat of it on your (at the time, when compared to now) relatively okay body like last time in Carly’s spoon, you feel like you just might say it.  Fear floods your every orifice almost as much as Jenny’s drying sweat and soap scum is starting to from the shower.  You gulp.

                “Do…do I have… to say it?” you say, swallowing hard and irregularly in between, catching your breath under Carly’s powerful thumb.  “The… words?”

                She smiles again sweetly.   “See, that’s the problem, little bro.  I’m not sure I need to hear that anymore.  Because even if you say it to me, I know that you’ll be lying, no matter how much I’ve done to you, you still won’t believe it.  So there wouldn’t be a point…”

                “What… then…”

                “Well, see, I know that even if you won’t admit it freely without lying, you have to know SOMEWHERE in that stupid little body of yours that I can do whatever I want with you, and you can’t stop me, no matter how many times you try to escape or say something dumb to me instead of just making it easier and doing what I ask,” she says spitefully, absentmindedly sticking the thumb of her other hand into her mouth and sucking at it with a loud pop, clearly thinking hard.  “So you’re not going to say it to me.  You’re going to show me.”

                “H-how…” you mumble, wanting so badly for this just to end, no matter what it is.

                “WELL…” she says cheerfully, still keeping her thumb trained straight on your abs, immobilizing you.  “I thought about it, and I realized that when I tried out your…” she says, giggling like always at this point in the sentence, “…little boy thingie, it made you happy.  So I figure, if you show me how happy you are with being MY little brother to teach whatever I think you need to learn, then I’ll know you know it just as much as I do…”

                “Hmm?”

                “Get over here, little bro,” she says, releasing you from her thumb and hopping onto the bed, laying back against the frame at the top.  You roll your head to the side, still too tired and pained to actually move, and watch as her sweaty feet are stretched out, her bare legs bent slightly to make room.  She wiggles them, the fan in her room spreading around the filthy scent again, even from back here.  You gag, having been through so much only to face this.  She laughs.  “I said get over here, little bro.  Stop trying to smell them from all the way back there, hold your breath if you have to, and move your stupid little butt over here.”

                You roll over, crawling forward, forced to painfully drag yourself toward what will most likely be the worst thing you’ve had to do yet, barring all the beatings you had to take against your will.  This is an entirely different scenario.  You already have a feeling of what Carly wants from you, and while it hurts you deeper than anything you’ve had to do, or any scratch you’ve received from a dry foot crack, you somehow know already that you’re going to force yourself to swallow your remaining humanity and do it.  Live.  Life.  You want it so bad you can taste it more strongly than any amount of foot flesh or gummy saliva you’ve had dumped into your digestive tract like a garbage disposal in the past few days.

                But you can’t.  Halfway to Carly’s eagerly waiting, slimy, sweat-drenched, grass blade-laden feet, you drop, unable to move another muscle.  You feel your leg twitching at the ankle you twisted some time during the day inside Carly’s shoe.

                “Get UP, little bro, right NOW.  God, why do I have to do EVERY SINGLE THING for you?  Why can’t you understand what you are now?  What you’ve become?”

                Somewhere, in the part of your mind not actively shutting down in pain and sorrow, you hear yourself give a gigantic, mental “fuck you” to your sister.

                “I guess I’ll have to do it for you, just like last time…” she giggles, and you feel two of her fingers pinching around your arm, and suddenly you’re being dragged, skidding forward across the pink plains of bedspread, stopping right in front of her toes.  You look up, the smell so nauseating you feel your stomach quivering, and you watch as a bead of sweat drops down from between her big and second toes with a tiny, barely hearable splash into the fabric.  Looking down, you see a clear, damp spot on the bedspread where your sister was just resting her foot.

                “Are you ready to show me now, little bro?  How happy you are to be mine?”

                And you make the most painful nod in your life, shaking your head.  She grins.

                “Good, little bro.  Good.  Now just hold still.  Let it come.”

                You almost want to laugh at the oddness and irony of what she just said to you; obviously, your sister couldn’t possibly know the context of that last word she just used, but it’s funny all the same to you.  You figure something ought to be funny, because if it’s not your mind is going to break in two under the strain of what’s about to happen.  You can use “funny” right now.

                “Just let it come.”

                Without another word, your sister’s fingers are dragging you forward.  You look up and see her big and second toes separating as far apart as they can go, making room for you.  With a soft squishing sound, they close around you, caking you in her foot juices.  Now, so close to the smell, you lean over her second toe and puke.  She doesn’t even respond, and suddenly you feel the hot, soggy toe flesh grinding into you.  Your dick is pressed directly into the deepest part of the toe crevice, right onto the actual foot, becoming absolutely soaked as more droplets are shaken loose, tumbling off of her toe onto your body, her sweat dripping down you in long trickles to your feet.

                Your mind closes, and you accept it.  Finally.  Your dick begins to grow, and you close your eyes tightly, just concentrating on other feelings to remove your mind.  The rhythmic sweep of the grooved toe lines pressing into your sides, bruising you further.  How good your sister’s cool transudation feels dripping down you like the shower you need so desperately.  The warm hug her toes are providing for you, lifting you off the ground slightly, your feet meeting the cool air underneath as droplets continue sliding down your body and dripping off of your body to the soaked ground below.

                The pulse of your sister’s monstrous muscular toes continues, grinding you deeper and deeper until you have to use your arms to push off against her toes to ensure your dick isn’t crushed inside the musty flesh fold.  You’re almost there, and once again, you hate yourself as the feeling of pleasure floods you.  But this time, you don’t feel as guilty.  Anything to ease the pain covering every square inch of your physical body is a good easing, no matter the source.  No matter what.

                What the hell has happened to me, you think.  She’s right.  Who am I?

                What am I?

                With a loud yelp, you explode into the sweaty folds of flesh, breathing heavily as it continues pumping, your sister’s toes clenching around you with more and more intensity as a response, tightening into your bruises like steel straps.  You hear Carly snickering gleefully.

                “Now… p-please…” you whisper, too tired and well beyond spent to actually utter the words with any level of confidence.  “I… I… I did it… I did it… p-please…”

                You feel the cold, plushy flesh closing around you again, and you go limp into it, barely able to hold yourself up any longer, Carly’s fingers easily supporting your weight and taking you up to her face.  Your head rolls back onto the pillow of her finger.  You struggle to keep your eyes open in exhaustion, wanting so badly to sleep but knowing you have to press this now, as fast as you can.

                “What’s that, little bro?  I can’t quite hear you when you whisper like that.”

                “P-Please… help me… please…”

                Carly snorts a little, grinning at you and even chuckling a little.  “Are you kidding me?  You actually believed me?  Like, you actually thought I was going to go call up the hospital or something right after that?”

                “B-But…” you whisper weakly, the bad news hitting you harder, your mind breaking inward.

                “Stop stuttering, little bro, it’s getting on my nerves.  Just talk like regular or shut up.”

                “Please, Carly… I can’t do anymore… so… so tired…”

                “Awww…” she coos quietly, bringing her other hand up to your face and brushing a soft finger along your cheek.  “Ickle baby brother is getting TIRED?” she says suddenly and spitefully, tapping your head one final time with her firm fingertip and pulling back, momentarily making you dizzier.

                “Please, Carly, please… w-why…” you utter.

                “Why do you keep babbling like that, bro?  You really are starting to sound like a stupid baby again,” complains your sister quietly, giving you a soft squeeze with her fingers.  Just this small motion, however, wreaks havoc on your body.  You grunt loudly in pain, convulsing a little out of instinct.  Coughing lightly, you speak again.

                “B-But you SAID…” you proclaim as confidently as you can, although it’s not much.  Carly’s head tilts, giving you that stern and condescending look again at this reminder, as if you just told her you saw a fire-breathing unicorn prancing around the kitchen.

                “I know what I said, little bro, I don’t need you to remind me.  I’m not STUPID like YOU…” she says mockingly, vibrating the firm fist holding you ever so slightly, shaking you around.  “I WAS going to do it, bro, I mean I really was.  But honestly, after what we just did… I mean, I’ve kind of realized something…”

                “W-what…” you whimper, your heart crushed completely.

                She smirks, giving you another “friendly” squeeze, causing you to grunt again.  “I like you better this way.  A lot better than when you’re big.  Right now, you seem like you’ve learned your lesson, but how can I be sure you won’t undo it all if I let you grow back somehow?”

                You nod your head side to side as quickly as your remaining energy will let you, slamming your cheeks against the taut finger flesh holding you so motionless in midair.  “N-n-no!  I’ve learned, I promise, I’ve LEARNED!” you cry out in anguish.

                “Actually…” she says, tossing her dirty blonde hair back over her shoulder regally and rippling her fingers around your naked body in show.  “…I think the world is a whole lot better off if you’re small enough for me to hold in my hands…” she says.  “This way, I can keep you out of trouble.  Make sure you can’t hurt anyone else like me.  Trust me, bro, it’s for the best.”

                At this final statement, this confirmation of your twisted, terrible fate, you can’t help it anymore.  Shivering as the mental and emotional strain of what’s happening to you right now rips through your core, you can’t fight it anymore and break into tears.  They come quickly at first, soaking your face and leaking onto your sister’s fingers, pooling in the creases of her pointer finger joint directly below your chin.  Then, with your face damp glistening with tears, you begin to dry sob, letting it all out.  There’s nothing left.  There’s nothing left for you to do but this.

                You won’t say it.  You’ll never say.  Never.  But you belong to your sister, and you know it.

                You are your sister’s little doll.

                You cry for several minutes, hard, your breath cutting off in chokes.  Through your tear-blurred vision, you look up at your sister’s eyes, completely unchanged.  No sympathy.  No understanding.  Nothing.  Stone.  You can hardly see your sister in those eyes any longer.  You wonder if she’s even in there still.

                “You’re making a mess on yourself, bro.  Just calm down.  It’s all right.  I’ve got you, and you’re not going anywhere else.  Just breathe.”

                But you don’t.  You can’t.  Not yet.

                “Little bro, stop crying.  You need to stop being a baby and just relax about this,” she says in a terrifyingly soothing voice considering what she’s just done to you.  It takes several more minutes of silence, but finally, blowing your nose, you do, just sitting.  Nothing left.

                “Here, let’s get your little face cleaned up…” she says in a low voice.  You watch uncaringly as her lips part ever so slightly, her massive, muscular tongue creeping through the opening of her plush pink lips.  A thin dribble of saliva from her soaking, glistening organ drips off, running down her chin and plopping down into her lap below.  She extends her tongue further, twisting and tubing it, inflating it ever so slightly with a flex, sending the little river of spit cascading back down the slippery slide and into the dark cavern of her mouth again.  She lowers her fist toward the tongue.

                Then, slowly and methodically, she presses your face into her tongue again: the rubbery buds, the tart minty scent, the oppressive heat baking your face right onto her slimy muscle.  The soggy, syrupy goo oozes over your face and hair as your sister works her tongue over your tired face, this time allowing a river of saliva to slide back down her tongue in the indented center.  A pool of soppy liquid seeps over your shoulders, covering every inch of you again, getting into the crevices of your sister’s hand and practically attaching you to it in unbreakable, sticky bonds.  Then, slowly, she swipes her tongue up your face with a final slick slap to the top of your now-absolutely soggy head.  As she retracts her tongue into the smelly cave of her mouth, a long dribble of a saliva strand stays back, falling across your face, like a badge of shame stretched disgustingly across and into your eyes.

                “Mmmmmm…. There we go, little bro, you’re all clean…” she murmurs in a low, satisfied voice, leaving you to stew in a fresh batch of her gummy, viscous mucus-and-water solvent.  You wait, the hot saliva tugging you back harder into the cool, soft flesh of your sister’s palm.  You feel wind rushing across your face, although the effect is weakened by the layer of slobber covering your face and warming you from the outside world.  You open your eyes, trying in vain to bat out the thick substance dripping into your every orifice, and see the floor approaching.  You see a pair of black flat slippers on the ground, your sister’s massive and muscular hand drawing you closer to it.

                With a gooey plop, you and a little puddle of cooling saliva land in the bottom of the shoe.  Instantly, the still minty scent of toothpaste and faint hint of morning breath from your sister’s mouth combines with the musty, sweaty residue coating the base of the slipper.  It’s not a pleasant effect.  But you don’t care anymore.  You can’t even think at all.

                You turn your head, looking upward, and see your sister’s long, powerful legs running up from just outside the shoe, up to her towering form above you, smiling.  She swipes a hair out of her eyes.  And then, suddenly, you see her right bare foot raising up into the air, her toes curling, her dry heel curving inward; even her toes are like animals themselves, wanting you between them to squeeze to death in between like jelly. 

“I think I’m done with you for now, Jack.  If you can’t move, there’s really nothing I want to do with you.  I’ll see you later, okay?” she says sweetly but with an air of sternness.  The pure evil is not hidden by her cooing, soft voice.

Her toes then sweep into the shoe, brushing over your body roughly and causing your more pain, but you can’t even cry out anymore.  Then comes the ball of her foot, the dry, cracking edge running the barren grooves across you, adding a few extra scratches to your battered form.  She leaves the rest of her foot up in an arch, so she can still see you in the center of her flat slipper.  You look up and see Carly’s pink, wrinkled heel towering over your face.  You wretch a little, from the stench, pain, and tiredness all rolled together.  Somehow, coughing hard, you find one measure of your voice left.

“Carly… p-please… don’t do this to me…” you beg pathetically, the tears running down your cheeks anew, mixing instantly into your sister’s sticky mouth oils still coating your face.  “Don’t do this.”

Carly’s face gives one final smirk down at you, tilting her head to the side playfully.  You stare up at it, sensing the incredible pleasure, the absolute happiness flowing through Carly.  Her control of you finally and for all time, complete.

“Sorry, Jack.  But your puny body belongs to me now.  I can do WHATEVER I want with it.  Sweet dreams, my little boy!” she coos gently, as if speaking to her most precious possession in the world.  You watch, unable to move, as her heel descends slowly.  Despite the fact that you are still technically breathing oxygen through your lungs, you feel as if her foot is the cover of the shoe coffin coming down on you.

Darkness encases you as the wrinkled flesh of your little sister’s soft, creamy sole molds itself around your naked, sweat-stained, saliva-drenched body.