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Author's Chapter 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.”

 

Chapter End Notes:

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