A Little Blackmail 2: Carly's Pet Brother by Jacksmith
Summary:

A brother, shrunken to a few inches tall, is held captive by his gigantic younger sister and forced to endure further challenges as she takes revenge for his blackmailing plot.


Categories: Odor, Teenager (13-19), Humiliation, Butt, Entrapment, Feet, Growing/Shrinking out of clothes, Incest, Instant Size Change, Mouth Play, Slave, Unaware, Violent 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: 15 Completed: Yes Word count: 59553 Read: 445453 Published: May 19 2011 Updated: May 25 2011

1. Chapter 1: Painful Aftermath by Jacksmith

2. Chapter 2: Navel Revenge by Jacksmith

3. Chapter 3: Mistaken Misogyny by Jacksmith

4. Chapter 4: Kiss My Ass by Jacksmith

5. Chapter 5: A Bit of Pampering by Jacksmith

6. Chapter 6: Hung Out to Dry by Jacksmith

7. Chapter 7: Carly's Mouth Kitchen by Jacksmith

8. Chapter 8: Sip of Death by Jacksmith

9. Chapter 9: Anatomy Lesson by Jacksmith

10. Chapter 10: Tongue Twister by Jacksmith

11. Chapter 11: Inconvenient Surrealism by Jacksmith

12. Chapter 12: The Amazing Human Chewing Gum by Jacksmith

13. Chapter 13: Sole Survivor by Jacksmith

14. Chapter 14: Washed Up by Jacksmith

15. Chapter 15: Sisterly Subjugation by Jacksmith

Chapter 1: Painful Aftermath by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

I couldn’t resist and wrote this follow-up already to the first story.  You should be able to figure out what's happening if you're just jumping in, but I'd urge you to check out the first one as well.  Things are going to be ramping up in this entry, so be ready for more kinky action than before.  Please enjoy!

Your eyes snap open as you lay crumpled in a pile of broken body but alive spirit, the mixed juices of souring milk and your gigantic sister Carly’s potent saliva dribbling off your naked body.  You roll to the side, managing to end up on your back, letting the remaining coolness of the cereal milk help soothe your back.  You may have broken something, you’re not sure.  More than likely, you twisted something at the very least.  Gooey, crumb-laden saliva and stinging milk have flooded every orifice of your body, even into your eyes, so seeing clearly at this moment is difficult.

                You might not have been alive at this moment.  You probably shouldn’t be alive.  From the seeming ultimatum you just had with your totalitarian little sister, by all accounts you shouldn’t be sitting crumpled on the kitchen table.  You should be being yanked down to the back of Carly’s slimy throat, through a wall of bubbled saliva, and into the pulsating esophagus, where you would soon be dragged down by muscle and tissue to an acidic death in the stomach of your sibling.

                If you weren’t in so much pain from the hard fall you just took onto the kitchen table, you would be laughing at this.  The sheer, hilarious irony.  You totally just dared your younger sister, albeit in not so few words, to swallow you whole because she was too scared to.  And honestly, it was purely out of your own attempts to retain your basic humanity by refusing to lower yourself to the point that you are forced to beg to not be eaten alive by another human being.  The thought itself is so terrifying and sick you can’t even fathom having to go through with it.  But she didn’t do it; your own insane stupidity to retain your human condition stopped her in her tracks.

                What makes all this so funny is that you honestly couldn’t have given a bigger shit at that point whether or not Carly made breakfast out of her brother.  Hell, subconsciously perhaps, you might have felt that it was more likely, in fact, given how deeply into madness your little sister had descended, that she would drop you inside her mouth and add you to whatever rotting foods she had sitting in the pits of her stomach.  Being so focused on remaining defiant to the end coupled with the fact that you didn’t want to take chances with yourself for going back on the plan in a moment of weakness, you had resolved to push the idea of your impending doom out of mind long enough to put on a good show for your sister, who was indeed completely shocked at your seeming lack of care for your life.

                You want your life.  You really want your life.  More than almost anything in the world, you want this whole nightmare to end and go back to what you had before.  This entire living, breathing, playing out of your worst dreams, multiplied by a thousand.  Your constant battling with your little, sadistic sister has culminated in this, the ultimate victory and vengeance for Carly.  She has you so completely in her power, you may not be alive in the next few minutes.  You really can’t tell.

                You would give anything to be capable of just barely jamming your nose between your sister’s toes like last week, as opposed to now, when your sister’s mammoth toes of raw power could grab you up between the crevices of toe cleavage and lift you into the air, as if you were a feather.  Last week, you were so disgusted with the reality of the situation of your sister’s cruel sense of blackmail, you just wanted it to end.  Now, you’d give just about anything to reverse time and go back to that moment and just undo all of this insanity.

                Of course, you feel you have to remind yourself, you’ve decided that your life is secondary to your humanity.  This much you deeply want to believe, as you tried to put it into practice just now by defying your sister’s threat to eat you.  But even now, you feel the familiar fear rushing back in.  Now, you just have to keep moving and pray that you can regain yourself in time to go out with a little dignity if the situation calls for it.  Don’t be afraid, you have to tell yourself mentally.  Having nothing else to do with yourself but lie in the pile of cereal and spittle right now, too tired, weak, and pained to attempt movement (not that it would be useful, with your sister’s monstrous fingers being close enough to grab you before you took three steps), you begin to repeat this to yourself.  Lose the fear, you think.  Lose the fear.  Lose it.

 

                You bat your eyes a few times to loosen the thick solvent of spit and milk settling in a layer over your eyes so you can see.  Your eyes watering from the lack of oxygen you endured only two minutes ago when you were nearly suffocated in Carly’s tongue, you squint a little, and through your rippled, water-logged vision, you see the massive form of your sister, sitting perfectly and leaning over you.

                As the milk, spit, and water dribble out of your eyes, you begin to see clearly again.  Carly’s face is locked into an expression of stoicism.  Her head rests on her massive hands, which are clasped at the top of her propped up forearms, as she stares down at you, directly above your face.  It reminds you deeply of only last night, when she had just kicked the living hell out of you using just the toes of one foot in order to teach you a lesson about being physically cruel to people.  The pain is pretty similar to that, too.  You won’t be forgetting that beating for a while.

                An air of silence fills the void, Carly’s frozen face refusing to budge with a comment, you being far too tired and opposed to the idea of further infuriating your sister.  Far off in the distance somewhere, you hear a car honking.  A bird squawking.  The outside world almost beckons, and you tilt your head to the side, looking over the top of the glass cereal bowl that very nearly brought you to your death and look at the clear blue sky of mid-morning.  It’s calling you, reminding you that there’s still life out there.

                Then your head tilts back to face forward, straight up, and looking back into the calm, foreboding, and youthful face of your fourteen year old psychotic sister, you are reminded of how much of a bubble this house has become.  This gargantuan place has become your prison.  You’re trapped in a pit with a lion, and you don’t have a single thing to defend yourself with.

                And finally, the silence that was last broken by your sister’s surprised shouts at you for refusing to submit to her in total ownership of you is broken again.  No longer in the blind rage she was in a few minutes ago now, Carly’s voice has lowered to a deeper murmur, low and slow enough for you to be able to hang on every word.

                “You’re amazing, little bro.  Amazing.  I don’t even know what I’m going to do with your stupid little self,” she says, shrugging.

                You don’t bother answering.  When she gets like this (which is often), you’re starting to learn that butting in is not in your best interests.

                “I mean, all you had to do.  ALL you had to do was say that little sentence to me.  I don’t think it’s so hard.  All I wanted you to say was “I belong to you.”  That’s it.  Four words.  If you had said those four words to me, I’d be on the phone with… mom, dad, the doctor, whoever.  But you’re just too stupid.  You’re SO stupid, that you just couldn’t do it.  And so now, you’ve brought this on yourself.  That pain you feel right now?” she continues, her head blocking off the source of overhead lamp light above you.  “That pain is what you’ve done to yourself, for everything.  Because you’re so dumb, and you’re such a huge jerk to me all the time.  So far, all I’ve tried to do is help you.  I’ve tried to teach you lessons about everything that’s wrong with you so you can fix it.  And what do you do?  You go lying to me like you’ve changed.  But you haven’t.  Not a bit…” she says, licking milky residue off her lips.

                “NOTHING I’ve done to you since yesterday has made any difference in you.  You’re still just a big fat meanie.  So I think that we’re going to have to start over again…”

                Your spine tingles, ice rushing down it to and into your midsection.

                “ALL over again.  From scratch.  Because you haven’t learned anything.  But I’m not going to do it all again to you…” she says, and as she does, she lowers a hand toward your helpless, beaten form.  Extending just her pointer finger out, she lowers it toward your aching body and lays it on your stomach, slowly sliding along your chest and stomach in a massage of sorts.  She lowers her head so close that mostly all you see is her mouth.  She opens it, allowing a wave of hot air to release like an oven.  “…I’m going to do something SO much worse to you, you stupid little boy, that when I’m done with you, you’re going to be on your puny little KNEES, BEGGING me to own you and your stupid little body.”  With this final word, her mouth curves into the familiar smile and the massage continues, her cool, soft fingertip gliding effortlessly across your reddened upper torso.  All you can hear in the renewed silence is the graceful murmuring sound as her smooth finger lithely strokes your sore midsection.

                “Do you hurt right now, little bro?”

                You don’t answer.  You’re far too tired and bewildered by what she just said, attempting to process it in your mind.  She plans to do something worse to you than what you went through last night and just this morning.  She just vowed to top the lessons she used on you into something far worse.

                You’re not even sure you could begin to formulate an idea of what she could possibly mean.  You literally are incapable of picturing what she could do to you to make her lessons stick better.

                “Do you?” she repeats in your silence.

                “Unnghh…” you manage to peep out.

                “That’s not an answer…” she contends, continuing the rhythmic sweep across your chest and abs.  You gulp hard, clearing your thickened throat of the massive amount of her saliva that leaked in accidentally as she dragged you violently across the massive pink organ inside her mouth.
                “Y-Y-Yes…” you peep out.

                “That’s what I thought.”

                “Unghh…” you groan, not really as a response, more just out of necessity.

                “So… does my finger feel good on you?” she whispers even more softly than before.

                “Gruggg…”

                “Why do you have to be so hard to talk to, Jack?  I asked you a question.  Does my finger feel good on your sore little body?”

                “Yea…” you groan, gritting your teeth.

                She chuckles in a lower register than normal at her whispering volume.  “Good.  Just relax, then.  Let me help your teeny body out a little…” she coos.  “…because you’ve got lessons to learn.  And you’re no good to me if you can’t move at all.”

                Your end of the conversation is up.  All you can do is lay here in the now-stale puddle of milk and drying slobber that has glued your back to the table, as your little sister’s long, cool finger strokes your upper body gently in an attempt to help you regain your strength so she can, ironically, beat it into the ground once again with what will no doubt be a fervor greater than anything you’ve experienced this morning or last night.  Despite the soothing relief the soft finger flesh is providing you at the current moment, you can’t help but let your heart rate fluctuate in stupefied anticipation of whatever your depraved little sister has in store for you, realizing with no misunderstanding that this cool digit of soothing flesh will soon be used in an attempt to subjugate you into a subhuman creature for Carly to own as a mindless pet.

Chapter 2: Navel Revenge by Jacksmith

You’re not sure when it happens exactly, as Carly’s continuous chest and ab massage with her finger has actually caused you to fall half asleep from the exhaustion, soreness, and calming cool of her touch, but when you manage to refocus yourself, you realize that your entire body is wrapped in the cool palm flesh of Carly’s right hand held high in the air, and she’s walking… somewhere.  Your eyes are too out of focus to figure it out.

                Even though your sister is holding you as gently as she can while still making it safe for you to not slip out of her palm, the sheer build-up of bruises and raw spots on your overly abused body is starting to take its toll, and even in such a light grip, her fingers cause you some pain just with the small push they have to give to keep you thoroughly encased in her fist flesh.

                You wonder whether or not you’ve managed to break something.  If you have, and your bone is broken somewhere in your body, you could easily puncture something with the sharp end.  If it happens to puncture the correct organ, you wouldn’t even need whatever is in store for you from your sister to do you in.  You could just die of internal bleeding with zero help in the way of medical attention or pain relief.  Carly would probably laugh at you while it happened, too.

                You look upward and see the underside of Carly’s chin, pointed forward in confidence as she strides powerfully toward wherever it is she’s taking you.

                You finally come to a stop.  You blink the high altitude and wind tears from your eyes and lift your head up from the firm pillow of your sister’s pointer finger, curled solidly around your chest and shoulders.  You’re in your house’s front sitting room, one of the larger rooms in your house.  It’s like a great cavern to you now, stretching on for miles and miles.  You are jolted slightly as Carly takes a seat on the couch.  Moving her arm to rest on her bare knee, she reaches into her pocket with the other hand and using two fingers, retrieves a single Cheerio.

                “You didn’t eat any breakfast, little bro, and if you don’t soon you’re not going to be able to learn as well,” she says, and her fingers extend forward, in front of the first holding you.  To allow your arms out, the clamped flesh tube with you inside unfolds the pointer finger, freeing your arms.  You hold out your hands and Carly slowly places the Cheerio into your outstretched hands.  You hungrily pull it in and begin devouring it, with Carly’s fascinated face glowing all the while.  You manage to eat it in a matter of big bites.  It’s not a lot, but it’s something.

                “You’re a good little eater when you want to be, Jack.  If you had eaten when I asked you to before, maybe you could have had some more,” she says plainly, making it clear that you will get nothing else, at least not for a while.  Your stomach gurgles, demanding more, but you will it to cease.

                “Now…” she says, turning at a 90 degree angle to pull her entire body onto the couch.  You turn your shoulder and watch as her toned bare legs stretch out across the couch, still horribly unwashed from her yard work, one foot having a sock, the other putrid flesh slab not having one: this is of course the one you submitted your body and devotion to no more than an hour ago.  Her tanned legs, so smooth and thin along her ankles but becoming abruptly rotund at her taut runner’s calves, are like rolling hills of raw, muscular flesh.  You shiver slightly at this sight and turn your neck back around to face Carly, who is now sporting a half-condescending grin at the look on your face.

                “Were you looking down at my feet just now, little bro?”

                “Umm… not really…”

                She nods downward in disbelief.  “I’m not blind, you know.  I can tell what you’re doing.  Were you looking at my feet?”

                “Yeah, kind of…”

                “Why?”

                “I don’t know…”

                She chuckles, leaning her back against a pillow but keeping you at eye level still in her fist.  “You don’t have to admit it, little bro.  I know you won’t.   But I just know you’re a little scared of your big sissy’s feet now.”

                You shake your head no.

                “Not even a little bit?”

                You shake no again.  She shrugs.

                “Whatever you say.  I know you are.  But don’t feel too bad.  We won’t get back to THEM until LATER,” she says with a cruel smile.   You turn your neck around to see her feet all the way down there again.  She wiggles her toes in a successive ripple, cracking them at the joints, putting on a show for you.  You shiver again and turn back.

                “I can feel your little body shaking like the scared, stupid baby you are, Jack.  You know you’re scared of my feet.  I know you’re scared of what they can do to you.  Just relax for now.  You’ll get some more personal time with them.”

                “Personal time.”  It’ll be like visiting two old friends.  Two old friends capable of humiliating you into a subhuman form within a matter of minutes.  You feel sick already.

                “NOW, however…” says your sister cheerfully.  “…now, you’ve got some other work to do.”

                “What?”

                “Well, I was thinking about you, and ALL the things you’ve done to me.  You’ve done a lot to me before.  You’ve tried to make me feel like crap.  Do you remember some of that stuff, little bro?” she says, pretending to sound on the verge of tears.

                “I… I… well…”

                “Yes you do.  Don’t try to lie to me.  Like… our camping trip,” she says, instantly smiling but at the same time looking serious.  “Do you remember that?”

                You do.  Well.  The memories flood your mind.

 

                It’s a year ago, you a sophomore in high school and your thirteen year old little sis, only in the 7th grade.  You’ve just pulled into some reserve area of camping grounds in the family’s van, where your outdoorsy dad hopes to show his family a little about his childhood with their first family camping trip.  It’s been four solid hours of you and your little sister arguing and annoying one another the whole way, much to the chagrin of your parents.

                “Why can’t you two just be quiet and treat each other with some respect?” groans your mom.  “We’re here to relax, on vacation!”

                “It’s not a vacation for me as long as I have to stare at his ugly FACE all weekend!” whines Carly, jabbing a pointer finger into your face, which you quickly swat away.

                “Dad, can we leave her out here in a ditch somewhere?  Please?  No one would have to know.”

                “Son, just cool it,” says your dad, not amused by your somewhat insensitive joke.

                Half an hour later, the tents are set up and your dad is collecting firewood for cooking the evening’s dinner.  You and your sister are free to roam around and do whatever.  You take this opportunity to walk off alone, down some leaf-covered hills to the creekside.

                You seat yourself on a large rock, overlooking a several foot drop into a shallow mud slab followed by the algid current of the creek running over mossy pebbles.  At least with this much open space, your irritating little sister has miles to run around in and annoy some woodland animals instead of you for once.  Maybe she’ll choose to annoy a grizzly, you think rather slyly.

Sticking your iPod buds into your ears, you sit and take in the scene.  Despite the fact that you can’t hear much through your music, you hear a crinkling sound near the creek.  You lean forward precariously on the rock, overlooking past the muddy drop and over at the flowing creek, spying a frog hopping over some leaves.

                Your peace is shattered, however, with the sudden concussive force of a large barefoot slamming you square in the back.  Normally, you could have stayed up easily, but as you’re crouching forward with nothing to grab onto except empty space, you go right over the five foot drop and into the mud below, your face buried in sludge.  It’s not a long drop, but you fall at just the correct angle to have the wind knocked from you completely, and you gasp for air, taking in a mouthful of mud.  This just clogs your throat, causing you to hack and spew, spitting out into the mud and taking slower breaths.

                As you try to regain a regular breathing style from the awkward blow you took from the mud slab, now having coated your entire front side, you lift your face completely from the mud and turn to the side like a swimmer taking a quick breather.  As you do, your face is instantly met with brown, leaf-speckled, mud-caked bare foot of Carly, firmly pressing into your nose and mouth.  Her soft, creamy sole bears down against your lips hard, shoveling more mud from off her foul heel and into your mouth, in a gesture practically like a forced kiss of her dingy instep as you struggle for fresh breath under those controlling peds.  You hack and spew, turning your head a little while trying to breathe normally again, but the persistent foot follows you, the taut feeling of her sole flexing in and out across your muddy face.

                “C-CARLY!” you roar, swatting her foot away.  She steps back, laughing so hard she has to double over and clutch her stomach with both arms.  “CARLY!  Damn it, what are you DOING?” you yell, clambering to your feet and spitting out a mud wad delivered specially by your sister’s pervasive foot.

                “Oh my… G…” she says, descending into uncontrollable laughter again.  “So… perfect… God, you look stupid… your face… your FA…” she starts to say, but she can’t finish.  You take a quick stride to the creekside and look into the imperfect reflection.  Across your cheeks and lips, you can see, quite plainly an almost perfect mud print of Carly’s filthy foot: her toes, heel, and ball showing up at the correct, caked intervals.  Painted right on your face, like a mark of shame, a sign of your utter defeat in her cruel prank.

                “THAT’S it!” you yell, and you dash forward, grabbing your sister around the waist.  For her age, she may be a little stronger and a little taller than most girls, but you also happen to be pretty strong, and she’s no match as you lift her up in the air, still in a painful bear hug, and you start walking along the creek.

                “What are you DOING, you stupid jerk?  It was a JOKE.  A little, tiny joke!  What are you doing?  Put me down!” she cries, trying to struggle loose.  As you have her arms pinned to her sides, she can’t do anything to swat at you.  With her legs, though, she curls them around you, kicking her muddy heels at your behind with no effect.  You’re pissed off right now, and there’s nothing she can do to stop you from getting her back.  As you walk, the creek begins to go lower as a slick, muddy drop forms, this one further than the one she pushed you off of.  Reaching a spot where the creek gets deeper and less rockier, you find a slick mud slope leading down the small incline.  It’s not a straight drop, but there’s no way to just climb down the slick.  It’s easily fifteen feet long.  You stop in front of it.

                “You wanna play rough, huh?” you say.

                “Put me DOWN, you moron!” she says.

                “Play rough, then,” you say with a grimace, loosening your power grip on her back.  She staggers back and instantly trips over.  She manages to go into a crouching position to stop herself from falling straight onto her back, but a moment later she’s on her ass, starting to slide down the slope.  Her hands shoot out and grab onto a damp tree root, although it doesn’t look like it will do much to hold her.  She doesn’t have a good enough grip.

                “JACK!” she yells up at you.  “You stupid, stupid jerk!  Stop it!  Help me!”

                “Go take a bath,” you say sarcastically.  “The water looks just fine.”

                “I HATE the creek water!  I’m afraid of it!  What’s in there?” she says, sounding more and more nervous.

                “Oh, shut up and give me a break.  It’s water.  It’s clean.  Be happy I didn’t pick a spot with mud.”

                “I’m your little sister!  You can’t just PICK on me like this!”

                “Oh, no?” you say, crossing your arms.  “Pleasant journeys.”

                As you say this, your sister goes sliding down the slick with a loud and melodramatic scream.  She lands in the sandy bottom of the creek, which only comes up to her stomach when standing.  She manages to climb back up to the shore, but she’s crying.  It couldn’t have been pleasant, of course, but it’s really just to make sure she gets the final word in this matter with your parents.

                And get it she does; the rest of your weekend is unpleasant, to say the least.

                You can almost still taste that bitter mud footprint pressed unwillingly into your mouth.

 

                You flash back into reality, your naked body held gently by the cool flesh of your now-gigantic little sister.

                “Earth to little brother.  I said, do you REMEMBER the CAMPING trip?” she says, slowly pronouncing each syllable.  You look fearfully at her.

                You nod.  No getting out of it now.  You remember it and so does she.

                “Good.  So this is how your first new lesson is going to go…” says Carly, lowering her hand to her stomach.  She opens it, and you fall onto the white t-shirt, still somewhat damp with cold sweat drying in to the fabric.  You stand up and she looks down at you, standing directly in the middle of her abs.

                “You forced me…” she says with a little more drama, “… when you KNEW I was scared, to try to hang on to something… for my life…”

                She seriously thinks her life was endangered?

                “… to avoid something you ALSO knew I was afraid of.  Didn’t you?”

                “Yea..”

                “DIDN’T YOU?”

                “YES!”

                She recollects herself after the quick outburst.  “I thought so.  So here’s a little lesson for you about putting yourself in the place of the people you try to hurt.  Are you ready?  Nod yes.”

                You obey.

                “Good.  Now, get under my shirt.”

                “W-What?”

                “That’s right.  Walk your little self back there, and climb underneath my shirt, right there.”

                Wordlessly, you do so, walking back toward Carly’s waist along the plushy ground of her fabric-coated stomach until you reach the end of the shirt, which is still soaked.  Lifting it up, you climb underneath the heavy layer of fabric and into the claustrophobic area under your little sister’s shirt, so humid and smelly that you begin to sweat almost immediately in the stove-like heat.

                Before you lies a plain of golden-brown flesh, tanned perfectly, curving down in little dunes where Carly’s near-six pack averages out in the middle.  You are taken aback for a moment at how cut your little sister apparently is on her midsection.  With walking now no longer an option, you drop to your hands and knees, and wait.  Underneath your limbs, pressed into Carly’s stomach, you can feel the supple, tan ground rising and falling slowly as Carly calmly inhales and exhales, the skin pushing up into your limbs as she breathes in.  Pressing your hands in deeper in order to stay balanced, you press into a very thin layer of flesh and almost immediately feel the terrifyingly rock-solid muscle below.

                “Are you in there okay now, little bro?  Can you hear me?”

                “Yes!” you yell out.

                “Good.  Now, just crawl forward until you get to my belly button, then stop.”

                You obey immediately, gliding your limbs across the tough, cut stomach of your little sis.  Your arms brush up against extremely short little hairs, normally the kind that everyone has, except at this size you can actually feel them at a touch.  You only have to move your limbs forward a couple times to reach her belly button, its outer circumference larger than your head.  Now, closer to her abs, you can really feel the muscle without even having to press in on the skin, just pulsating below your shins and forearms.

                “Okay, I feel you there.  Good job, little bro.  Now.  Get your hands into it.”

                “WHAT?” you yell, not so much out of offense but just so she can hear you through the thick fabric of her shirt.

                “Stick you little hands into my belly button, and grab on.  And then don’t let go, whatever you do…” she says playfully, and from all around you feel a sudden shift in the toned, tanned ground.  She herself is moving, it’s not just a breath.

                “Seriously.  Stick your hands in and grab on,” she adds quickly, and suddenly Carly is going into a vertical position, with you still waiting helplessly on her robust abdominals.  With no time to spare, you reach in and grab on to the wrinkled, somewhat flimsy interior of your sister’s belly button.  You feel the strain begin to hit your arms as your sister goes perfectly vertical standing up.  About ten seconds pass.  Your heart rate begins to rise as you hold yourself up by the little folds of naval skin inside Carly’s button.

                Cold air suddenly hits you, ending the humid sweatbox environment underneath your sister’s shirt, as Carly plucks the ends of her shirt up and hitches them up just below her chest, so she can see you.  You look straight up, your eyes tracing along the bountiful curves of Carly’s four pack, leading up through the ripples of fading shirt fabric, and up to Carly’s waiting, insistent face.  She has a simple smile on her lips.

                “Hang on there, little bro…” she warns.  “I don’t think it will feel good if you let go.”

                Against your better judgment, your eyes shift to your side, downward.  Below you, you see your mountainous sister’s mile-long legs stretching down for an eternity, her oppressive bare feet seemingly in the far off distance.  Which is exactly where the ground happens to be.  Distant.

                It feels like you’re hanging from the roof of a third story office building.

                You swing your body toward the smooth stomach flesh for support, burrowing yourself against it and feeling the warm, hard muscle again underneath.  Your arms begin to protest ever so slightly.  Just hang on, you tell yourself.  Just keep it up.  It’s a lesson.   Just a lesson.  She won’t let you die.

                Correction: she won’t want you to die.  Does she know?  Can she perceive the fact that you can and will die if you can’t hang on any longer and plummet to the ground?  It’s a three story drop, and under normal circumstances it would present a high mortality rate, but the fact of the matter is your body is so hammered right now, it wouldn’t take a whole lot to push it over the edge.  This fact sends a chill through you, and you almost lose your grip.  It occurs to you that Carly is trying to make you relive forcing her to slide down the little mud slick.  You didn’t help her.  Why should she help you?  You look to your right and left.  Carly’s hands are resting calmly at her side, making no attempt to move toward you.

                “C-C-Carly…” you gasp through baited breath, trying to conserve your energy to hang on.

                “What’s up?” says your sister happily, grinning ear to ear.

                “T-This can’t… w-work.  If I fall, it’ll k-k-kill me…” you muffle, clenching your teeth, using the last of your regular strength preserves to hang on.

                “What, are you telling me that big, strong body of yours can’t hang on anymore to big sissy’s belly?”

                “No!” you yell.

                She shakes her head no.  “Yeah, right.  Look.  I know you’re getting tired.  I know you’re afraid you’re going to fall.  But that’s the point.  That’s why we’re here, little bro…”

                “But… y-you don’t get it!  I CAN’T fall!” you roar out, starting to feel the burn of hanging on longer than your body wants.

                “What are you talking about?  Of course you can!” says Carly.  “It’s just from my belly to the ground.  What is that, little less than three feet?  You’re just being a stupid baby again.”

                A chill runs through you.  She doesn’t believe you.  She really doesn’t believe you.

                “CARLY!”

                “I’d suggest you stop trying to chat with me, little bro, so you can concentrate on hanging on tighter.”

                “Arrgggghhhh…” you grunt in agony, your muscles going numb, your fingers turning pale white from the strain.

                “THERE you go, little bro.  Keep it up.  Get those muscles working.  And FEEL what it’s like to do this, to dangle up there, scared of the fall underneath you.  Feel it.  Are you feeling it?” she says, almost accusingly.

                “UNNNGGGHHHH!”

                “I’ll take that as a yes, I think,” she answers coolly.

                It’s over.  You can’t take it anymore.  You’re about to fall.  And Carly is going to let you do it, not knowing you’re going to die when you hit the carpet at her feet.  You made it through the last challenge facing you, only to face certain doom on the very first lesson of Carly’s new plan for you.  Why?  Why?  Why did it have to come all the way here, only to end?

                Your fingers release.  Your sister’s stomach falls away, and you close your eyes.  Embracing your fate.  However, you don’t fall for more than a quarter of a second before you land in the fleshy cupped palm of Carly’s right hand, which she threw out just in the nick of time.  She curls her fingers around you like a cage, raising her hand up to look at you.  You collapse in exhaustion and fear into her palm, looking weakly over at her beaming face as your heart goes into overdrive speed.

                “Good.  That was lesson one.”

Chapter 3: Mistaken Misogyny by Jacksmith

Your heart rate fluctuates painfully, then returns to normal, scolding you for your stupidity.   Carly was of course planning on catching you all along, knowing perfectly well you probably wouldn’t survive the drop to the ground; you were so caught up in the heat of the moment and fear that she really wouldn’t do it, she actually managed to get to you.  For the second time this hour, your sister made you truly believe you were about to die.

                At this rate, you won’t last past lunch, whether or not Carly directly kills you somehow.

                Carly brings her other hand up underneath you, creating a double cup and curling all her fingers in around you.  You watch, still helpless to move much, as her fingers close together, creating a cool pod of flesh using her hands.  All you can see now is the little stream of light coming in from the space between her two thumbs, and even that is just a little crack as she presses her fingers together, trying to close the crevices and encase you completely.

                You can’t see anything, but the gravity shifts again, and you are pulled downward into the ground of Carly’s palm, most likely as she stands up.  Her hand jostle as she walks quickly, allowing you to be slammed helplessly against each palm inside her double fist like a ping pong ball, your sweaty and overheated form meeting a cushy wall of cool flesh, then disappearing against with a smack, but returning immediately as you smack into the other palm, your head bending downward to keep from bumping up against her thumbs above you.

                When Carly’s hand cage opens again, you find yourself under the harsh overhead lights of the bathroom.  You gulp.  What could go on in here?

                Carly removes one of the hands holding you, cupping one precariously around you and stepping to the toilet, lifting the lid.  You suddenly feel a wave of cold hit you, but you don’t move for fear of rolling right off her palm and directly into the water below.  Her hand slowly shifts, lowering you closer and closer until her hand is about level with the tank of the toilet in back.  You refuse to get up.  What’s going on?

                “Ready for your next lesson, little bro?”

                You don’t move.

                “C’mon, this is like a one person show right now.  Nod your little head; you don’t have to talk if you can’t, I guess.”

                You nod your head.  What else is there to do?  Carly beams.

                “Good.  All right, let’s get to work.  Do you know what your next lesson is?”

                Your head shakes no, weakly.

                “Well, I’ll tell you…” she says smartly.  “Let’s just say I hope you like the splash zone at sea world…” she says, her eyes moving to the toilet.

                With a start, your entire body clams up, trying to attach yourself to your sister’s cool palm in any way possible.  Carly breaks into hysterical laughter.

                “Oh my God, would you look at how pathetic you are?  It was just a joke,” she says, raising an eyebrow and wrinkling her nose in disgust.  “Believe me, if we did THAT…” she continues.  “…I wouldn’t want to touch you again.  I’d just have to… flush you away and forget you existed or something…” she says, trailing off as if actually considering the mechanics of this thought.  She shrugs.

                “Well, it doesn’t matter.  No, little bro, we’re here in case you have to go potty.  I don’t want you freaking out on me later when you have an emergency, so go ahead; empty yourself or whatever,” she says, smirking.  You start to crawl to the edge of her fingers, but you’re too tired to actually balance yourself on her single hand if you stood up.  Your bladder frankly is filled to the brim from the massive drink you took last night, but you know that if you stood up, you’d go careening toward the glossy sewage train below you, and you’re not sure if you trust Carly to catch you when she’s not expecting it.  You don’t move.

                “Can’t move, huh, little bro?  Nod your head if you don’t think you can stand up,” she says, waiting for you.  You nod.

                “Okay, okay, fine, it looks like I have to do EVERYTHING for you, then.  But I guess I’m your big sister…” she says.  The fingers of her other hand return, and she slides two of them slowly and calmly down each of your quads and shins, reaching you ankles and pinching them into the cool fingertips.  Then, in the hand holding you, she latches her pinky and thumb under your armpits, letting you go limp in midair as she holds you up like a hammock of flesh, leaving your lower body hanging precariously in the air.

                “You can go ahead… I mean, if you want to.  I’m not going to give you a chance later,” she says.  So you do it.  You piss quickly, watching as it falls, so inconsequential, toward the bowl below.  It barely makes up a couple normal sized drops, if that, and it drops with such an inaudible tinkle.  As you finish, Carly moves you into a diagonal leaning position in midair so she can look at you.  “Good job, you peed, little bro!” she says excitedly, as if to a toddler in training.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to take a shower…” she says, and her hand lowers you downward toward the sink.  Below you, you see a plastic cup with flowery designs on the side.  She lowers you toward it, stops at the ridge of the cup, and releases your limp form into it.  “…I’ll bet you’d prefer I take a shower soon, anyway.  I’ll bet you can smell all the hard work I’ve been doing just for you, outside,” she says, winking at you as she leans her face over the cup before disappearing from sight.  Fifteen minutes go by; you hear the shower curtain tugged around, the water running, it stopping as the faucet dribbles the last remnants, and finally a towel being whipped around.

                You manage to lift yourself into a more comfortable leaning position against the base of the cup.  Lining the walls are large, white droobles of old, clingy foam having dried thoroughly like plaster to the side of the cup.  You question it for a moment, and suddenly realize you’re sitting in Carly’s toothbrushing spit cup.  Figures.  At least it smells mildly minty, however stale and musty it also is.  So you’re sitting in a cup that normally holds the soapy remnants of your little sister’s grimy, end-of-the-day teeth and tongue?  Big whoop.

                Suddenly, Carly’s entire hand is smushing into the thin opening of the cup to reach you.  As her freshly washed, cold hand closes around you and lifts you up by your waist, you can already smell the oily acne wash she put on her hands and applied to her face.  It’s a sharp smell, but it’s bearable.

                Raising you out of the cup, your sister shifts her grip on you again, taking you back into a full fist.  Her hand is now pretty icy from the cold shower, and you can’t help but shiver a little.  She grins.

                “Too cold for you, little bro?” she asks.

                You nod, slowly, your teeth chattering as the freezing flesh folds press into every inch of you.

                “Sorry about that.  Hey, cheer up, you won’t be in there for long,” she says, opening the bathroom door and beginning to walk.  In response to your coldness, you can feel her fingers shimmying around you in a swaying motion, trying to generate some heat.  Mostly all it does is smear her icy finger flesh across your ass, causing you to tingle at the unpleasant temperature tickling across your whole body.  As she swings her arms casually, wind whipping your eyes and rocking you through the air like a Viking ship carnival ride, you look up at her massive form.  Her freshly washed hair hangs in damp tangles around her neck.  Having abandoned the work clothes, she now sports a thin, sunny yellow tank top and white short shorts.  You try to look down, but you can’t see anything below her waist, as the protective wall of finger flesh extends out just a bit too far for you to see.

                You watch as Carly opens the door to and enters your own bedroom.  She surveys the room, looking at all the homework you left strewn around, then hops over it, landing hard on your bed.  She lays backwards on it, and suddenly her bare feet and legs come into view again, and she crosses them, resting them directly on your pillow.  Her wrist twists back toward her lower body, resting her hand on her quad, just so you can see the rest of her.  Knowing you’re watching, she presses her large bare feet squarely down into the cushy pillow where your face tends to sit every night.  Figures.

                After a brief moment of this, she twists her wrist back around slightly, turning you around to face her upper body, in a sitting position at the foot of the bed.  She puffs her cheeks up in an overly dramatic deep breath, then lets it out, staring you down again.

                “I hope you’re feeling rested, little bro…” she says.  As if the twenty minutes you just had since your biceps were put through more strain than ever before in your life as your sister used you as a human naval ring would be a break for you.  The pain is slowly subsiding, but you still feel just as tired, your head crumpled onto the cushy pillow of your sister’s taut finger.  “…because you’re about to get a little workout.  But you like those, don’t you?  Working out?  Giving your big, manly muscles some exercise?” she says playfully.  All you can do is groan.  She tsks at you.

                “You’re not going to do very well with that kind of attitude, Jack.  Lift your little head up for me.”

                You roll your neck around, making a small cracking noise, and lift your droopy head up, it flopping to the side.  You’re horribly fatigued and frankly getting insanely hungry right now.

                “C’mon…” she coos at you, and a second later you feel the pointer finger of her other hand tucking slowly under your head, lifting it up.  To support your head being upright, she quickly grabs up the other side of your head in her thumb, gingerly supporting your head between her two massive, cold fingers, squeezing your cheeks together despite her attempt at carefulness.  “There you go, little bro.  Now, c’mon, give your big sissy a smile.  Just a little one,” she says, grinning hopefully at you.  You try, moving your lips up a little at the corners.  She nods her head, as if coaxing you to continue.  “See, it’s not so hard.  Now just… try to stand up…” she says, and suddenly her cold palm releases you, the fleshy prison bars of her fingers flipping off.  You instantly fall down, right onto her rock-hard quad muscle, perfectly smoothed and tan, like her stomach.  You knew your sister was an athletic basketball player, but it had never occurred to you how tough she was for her age.  Marginally, you feel less embarrassed for how long it took you to throw her foot off your face last week during your little hang-out session.

                Carly instantly throws her head back in laughter, leaving you crumpled on her wide quad; as if to try to wake you up, she begins flexing her quad up and down, shaking you around a bit.  Trying to grab on to the smooth flesh, you manage to stagger to your feet as your sister finally ceases clenching her leg muscles.  She pulls one leg back up, bending at the knee, to her chest, but leaves the one you’re sitting on stretched all the way out to the pillow.  You don’t allow yourself to turn back and see that wrathful ped, instead focusing your gaze up at your sister’ face, looking humorously at you, her lips puckered as she ponders you.

                “Okay, I can see you’re pretty tired right now.  So we’ll just start with a warm-up.”

                “Of what?” you manage weakly, blinking several times.  She grins.

                “My feet.  I just know you’ve missed them,” she says, and you feel her quad ripple again.  Probably flexing her toes behind you, although you don’t turn to look.  Your face, unable to contain your apprehension at what’s to come, twists into a look of nervousness.  “What’s wrong?  Are you still scared of them?” she chuckles.  You don’t honor that one with an answer.  She clears her throat.

                “I even CLEANED them for you, little bro.  Just for you.  I promise they don’t smell bad anymore.  Not THAT bad, anyway,” she says, rolling her eyes.  Your stomach gurgles in hunger.  “So, before we get to the lesson, let’s just try to get you a little more comfortable with them…” she murmurs.

                “W-What?” you stammer.

                “You heard me right.  I don’t want you to be afraid of my feet.  And believe me, if you’re afraid of them this much, we’re never going to get anywhere.  Now hold still,” she orders calmly, and suddenly you watch as the leg she had pulled up against her torso, rises up.  Her freshly washed foot comes into view, her clean toes wriggling in the AC breeze of your room.  Then, using her toes as grippers, she clasps her foot against the side of her sizeable quad, jiggling it slightly despite its tightness, with you sitting atop it.  You look side to side, wondering whether it’s even worth the effort to try to avoid what’s coming.  Looking forward, her foot climbs up her quad like a wild animal closing in on its prey, her toes curling in and out in anticipation of no-doubt having you firmly tucked underneath them, leaving you vulnerable for her to totally and completely take apart.

                Then, it pounces.  Her foot crosses over her quad, her toe pointed, and smacks you hard in the abdomen, the sheer, meaty rotundness of her dry big toe tip pressing into your stomach and sending you flying backward off her thick leg.  You land crumpled in the blue bedspread, your body rolled helplessly against your sister’s muscular hamstring under her leg.  The wind is knocked completely from you, except not this time by a muddy bare foot.  This time by a single toe.  And it hurts a hell of a lot more than the first time.

                You try to push yourself up, a prospect that any other time would have been a cinch, except for the fact that your arms are so sore from earlier you can’t even do a single push-up to get up.  As you flatten yourself out, trying to push up against the uneven blanketed ground, you look to your left and suddenly see a gargantuan, dense mass of peachy flesh and peeling, dried skin slamming down beside you.  The big toe.  You try to push back against the blanket, but suddenly find the toe curling in toward your shoulders, bending in deep, white angles.  It presses into you and instantly you feel how utterly dry Carly’s big toe is.  It almost hurts you as her deep, discolored ridges grind into your arms and skin, pulsing lightly to work you a little.  From your right side, then, a long, plithey second toe curls inward, almost as rough as the big toe, turning her joints yellow as she bends her toe teasingly at you as it too curls in to collect its helpless prey.  You can do nothing.  Her big and second toes begin to press into your arms, then start to slide around, juggling your arms and sides to get a good grip on you.  It’s actually painful, rubbing your arms red and raw once again with the cold, gummy surfaces of flesh concealing incredible power.  Finally, taking hold of your weak obliques, her toes squeeze on you like never before, exerting incredible pressure on your sides.  You groan in agony, doubting Carly can hear or would care at all about the pain she’s inflicting on you.

                With terrifying strength, then, your little sister’s toes begin to lift off the ground, with your limp and powerless form clamped like a foam pedicure pad into the crevice.  You are pushed through the air, finally feeling Carly’s foot come to rest.  You look down and realize she has crossed this foot over the other leg, with you facing forward, back at the rest of her long body.  Your eyes look straight down, seeing the thick veins of her foot running down to her ankles, and finally her horrifying and muscular legs, along her white shorts and yellow shirt and finally to her face, her arms crossed casually across her chest.  She gives you a stern and knowing smile, giving you a little extra squeeze from her toes as she does so.  She seems to have you right where she wants you.

                “See?  My feet aren’t so bad, Jack!” she says encouragingly.  “They don’t always have to hurt you.  If you do what your big sissy says, they can… be your friends,” she says, making use of an odd metaphor.  “I PROMISE I’ve got you.  You’re not going anywhere.  Just try to relax.”

                You do, finally giving up the hope of struggling away.  You let your face and upper body flop downward, hanging down over the soft top of Carly’s foot.  Wonderfully, there’s almost no trace of the hellish, sweaty scents like last time.  Instead, it’s a fruity and flowery body wash used perhaps far too heavily and even this makes you want to cough, so thickly was it spread, but it’s an infinite improvement no matter how you look at it.  Thick fruit or squalid, drying foot sweat?  You think fruit.  To give yourself a sense of balance, you slide your hands down, pressing into the soft and almost inviting flesh of the top of her foot.

                The bottom, of course, is an entirely different extreme.  Your legs and crotch flop down, hanging hard against your sister’s dry and dusty foot ball.  On your delicate dick, you can feel the slight flakiness of the skin, hanging loosely from the underside of Carly’s foot, rubbed absolutely ragged from all the tough basketball she plays.  You sigh, unable to move, jammed hard and humiliatingly between your little sister’s toes just because she wanted you there.

                You almost want the lesson to get started already so you can be freed sooner.  Each minute spent here, your naked body so completely subdued by just two of your little sister’s arid toes, continues killing your already nearly-dead dignity.

                “Just relax, little bro.  Relax.  Just… get to know my feet a little better.  It’s okay…” she says soothingly, making no other movements to her feet, her toes locked firmly in place around your bruised sides.  You know her feet pretty well at this point, you think, and would be perfectly fine with being let out at this point in time. 

                “Little Jack is gonna fly!” she says with a little squeal, and suddenly her foot is lifting up in the air, her leg perfectly straight.  You suddenly have to look down at your sister (a refreshing oddity, when you normally have a good five inches on her, but haven’t actually been in that position in half a day) as she holds you directly over her torso, her powerful leg stretching down and lifting up as if you weren’t there.  She slowly begins to rotate her ankle, turning you around.  She tightens her toes a little more on you, curling them downward a little bit to grip you more around your hips than sides as she lowers her heel back onto the pillow.  Then, letting her foot press slightly into the airy pillow, she crosses her other leg past the foot now holding you.  Your heart skips a beat as the ball of her foot and toes cross mere inches from your face, a vivid and terrifying sculpture of wrinkles and flaky white skin around the admittedly cracked tips of her toes.  However, they pass by you, her ankle and foot top in plain view as she rests that foot on her ankle.  You look back at her face.

                “I hope you’re feeling a little more comfortable in there now, Jack.”

                You just hang there.  Answering either way, affirmative or negative, doesn’t seem like it would be too good for you.  Somehow, you get the feeling that no matter what you do with yourself, it won’t have much input on whatever this is leading to.

                “So let’s talk…” she begins, slowly re-starting the toe curling, again grinding her dry toes into your sides.  You feel big scuffs beginning to form as her powerful toes carve into your weak self in dry grooves.  “…about you.  I’ve realized something about you, little bro.  It’s something I don’t really like about you.”

                Of course.  What DOESN’T she like about you?
                “And as your big sis, it’s my job to make sure it gets fixed so you’ll be a nicer person.  Tell me, Jack, what do you think of… women?”

                Confused again.  Already your mind starts getting to work.  Each lesson has started innocently enough.  Where could this possibly be going?  You don’t have a good feeling right now…

                “What do you mean?” you say slowly, trying to drag out the time you have to decipher what’s going on and hopefully try to steer yourself out of it.  Or at least into a milder form.  Although, as evidenced by your current location between your little sister’s toes, it doesn’t appear you’ve been too successful thus far.

                “What do you think I mean, silly.  Women.  How about this question, then.  Do you respect women?”

                “Yes!  Of course I do!” you say quickly, and for one of the first legitimate times in the last few hours, you’re actually not lying through your teeth just to avoid Carly’s wrath.  At any rate, if you somehow manage to survive this ordeal, you imagine you’ll have a form of reserved respect for your sister from here on out after all of this.

                Her toes cave in harder on your body, continuing to grind.  “No you don’t.  Quit the lying, Jack.   Lying annoys me, and I know you don’t want to do that.”

                “But I’m not!  I respect women plenty!  You’re just my sister, we’ve argued and stuff before because… that’s what we do, but I honestly do respect them,” you argue heartily.  This debate doesn’t appear to be going well, though.  Carly shakes her head.

                “I’m not even talking about me, Jack.  I’m talking about all women.  Like, what about Jenny?  You sure didn’t respect HER, so don’t try to lie to me!” she says.  The grinding seems to get harder.  You wonder whether or not your skin will be rubbed so red it may bleed.

                You know pretty well what she’s talking about.  Jenny.  The memories return.

 

                It’s a mere six months ago.  You’ve just gotten back from a workout and today, you pushed yourself to the absolute max.  Your arms and legs are honestly so tired you have to limp a little, your hands feeling a little numb as you turn the doorknob to enter the house.  You got little sleep the previous night while doing homework, and as your endorphins are still going like crazy from the workout, sleep would be difficult, but you’re so tired you decide to just take a quick tab to help it come.  With no one else home, you chug a couple bottles of water and the tablet then collapse on the living room couch for a nap.

                You awake, your eyes shifting to the clock.  Two hours later.  Not bad for a nap, although it appears the tab didn’t have its full effect; maybe you should have taken two.  You try to move and find your wrists bound.  You shake at them, your arms still deathly tired and in no shape to pull anything.  Looking all the way up, you recognize it as a thin but durable rope from the garage.  It bends down below the couch, probably tied underneath.  The same has happened to your ankles.  The couch is pretty wide, and as you roll over to try and flip off of the couch, the taut ropes yank you back.

                Your mind gets frantic.  You wonder if someone’s broken into the house and left you like this in your deep tablet-induced sleep.  You curse yourself, but look up curiously to see the stereo and HDTV still resting calmly on the table.  Maybe there was no one.

                It hits you as soon as you hear the foot stomping a floor above.  Carly.  That little bitch is going to pay for this hard.  Ever since the camping trip fall you forced her to take, she’s been threatening to get revenge.  The set-up was so perfect; you left yourself vulnerable to attack in your deep sleep on the wide couch with sore, unusable muscles.  How could you have been so stupid.

                You hear two sets of feet stomping down the stairs and then walking into view.  It’s Carly, her shirt from basketball team training still damp in front, along with her friend Jenny Sheller, in equally damp workout clothes and white flip-flops.

                Carly is, as you’ve noted before, about 5’9” and relatively tall for her age.  It’s made all the odder looking, then, to see her standing next to Jenny, who dwarfs her at 6’1” as easily the tallest girl in the eighth grade, just an inch below your height.  Jenny is the star player on the basketball team (for obvious reasons), and has been friends with Carly for the last year ever since Carly was recruited.  She has reasonably pale skin and a pretty face, with deep blue eyes, long brown hair, and thin cheeks, which sits atop a very tall and lithe body, her long legs making up most of her overall form.  In fact, you’d bet her legs are marginally longer than yours despite your overall height advantage; with such long limbs and short shorts, her tough quads and calves are plainly visible, so recently worked at basketball practice.  The two girls appear almost as opposites, with Jenny’s fair complexion and brown hair standing against Carly’s tanned skin and dirty blond hair, but they go together well.  Jenny’s never really interacted with you, but you can’t imagine her being too pleasant if she’s friends with your sister.

                They walk into the room, their mouths pursed into smug smiles.  After stopping in front of you, though, both break into hysterical laughter, Carly leaning against the shoulder of her large friend, Jenny putting a long arm around Carly’s shoulder in a half-hug.  They do this for a moment, the anger mounting in you, until they begin walking closer, stopping right next to the couch, looking down at you condescendingly from a standing position, Jenny in particular having to bend her neck down to see you.  Carly, finally catching her breath, covers her mouth with a hand to calm herself, pointing down at you with the other hand.  You desperately want to grab at her arm and throw her to the ground to get her back for this, but you’re completely immobilized.

                “Did you have a nice nap, bro?” asks Carly finally, chortling a little more.  You growl a little.

                “Carly, untie me, this isn’t funny,” you say.  You struggle a little.  “How the hell did you get it this tight, anyway, how do you even know how to do this?” you ask, looking up at the ropes.

                “Oh it wasn’t me, it was Jenny,” says Carly cheerfully, clutching her friend’s shoulder.   Jenny grins slyly.

                “You?” you say disbelievingly, looking up at her.  “How?”

                “Three older brothers, all of them eagle scouts.  Taught me a lot of that when I was like 5,” says Jenny, her voice a little lower than Carly’s because of her size.  She giggles slightly.  God, she seems just as agonizingly annoying to be around as Carly.

                “Okay, okay, fine, you’re both very impressive, you got me while I was ASLEEP,” you retort, tugging at the ropes.  “Now please get this crap untied…”

                Carly shakes her head no.  “Not yet, bro.”

                You groan audibly.  This oughta be good.  You can’t wait to get untied so you can drag the hose inside and soak Carly with some ice cold water.

                “Okay, whatever.  What do you want to say?” you answer curtly, hoping to get this over with.

                Carly tilts her head up a little to look Jenny in the face, and nods.  Turning around, her back facing you, Jenny sits down hard on your stomach, her muscular gluts hitting you with surprising impact.  You can feel the cool dampness of her short shorts that not long ago were being overworked into as Jenny carried off lay-ups with those powerful quads.

                You grunt loudly.  Like Carly, she doesn’t weight incredibly much (although she definitely weighs more than your sister just because of the extra four inches she’s got) but she hits you hard, almost knocking the wind out of you again.  Carly laughs loudly at her friend, who shakes her ass a few times on your stomach, settling in.  She looks down at you, her pearly whites gleaming at you gleefully.

                “Sorry.  Hope that didn’t hurt,” giggles Jenny, leaning back against the couch and placing a hand on your chest to balance herself.  Her rougher looking hands are massive for a girl three years younger than you, easily the size of yours if not a little larger, and they look like they could easily palm that basketball.  No wonder she’s the star player.

                “No, no, not at all,” you answer back, sarcasm dripping from your voice.  You look at Carly.  “Wow, you’re hilarious, you tied me up and now you have your friend using me as a chair; you’ve had your fun.  Untie these stupid ropes.”

                Carly giggles.  “Your voice is starting to annoy me, Jack,” she says in a voice of fake but stern authoritarianism.

                You roll your eyes, slowing your breathing to account for the mass of the tall teenager sitting on your lungs.  “Well, I’m not shutting up until you untie me.  You’ll have to tape my mouth closed,” you say jokingly but getting angrier at the same time.

                Carly laughs again, slapping her bare leg in reaction.  “That’s a good idea, bro, I’ll have to try that someday so I don’t have to listen to your stupid voice anymore.  But I have a better idea…” she says, looking Jenny in the face.  Jenny nods, then stands up, and takes a step sideways to the right, right over your face.  You gasp a little as Jenny’s butt comes slamming down onto your face, her cushy but firm cheeks smacking your face hard with the extra effort she put into sitting down quickly.  As Jenny is thin, her butt doesn’t cover your entire face, leaving your eyes out there and your nose available to breath, but her strong ass easily covers your mouth, discontinuing your ability to speak effectively.  You begin to grunt angrily, enraged.  Even in your tired state, you could pretty easily throw this giant off of you, but not with your limbs currently impaired.  You continue to struggle at the wrists, trying to keep your mouth closed for fear of tasting Jenny’s cold and sweaty shorts.

                Resting her hand now on your stomach for balance, Jenny’s gartantuan thighs start flexing above your lips through the fabric of her thin shorts, spiting you.  As Jenny’s leg muscles are pretty large, it’s visible to all present.  Carly laughs harder.  “That’s hilarious, Jenny, keep it up,” she says, doubling over in laughter.  Jenny’s thighs are actually starting to push down against your jaw, painfully.  It’s not like your comments were working before, but now you can’t even complain, as Jenny’s dense leg muscles mute any sound of objection you make.  She leans over and looks down at your face below her ass.

                “You told me he was kinda tough, but he doesn’t feel like it to me…” says Jenny thoughtfully, looking to Carly quickly but back at you.  “I mean, I can feel it, he doesn’t even have abs…” she says.  You feel the bottom of your shirt lifted a little, revealing your midsection.  She’s lying, you actually sport reasonably impressive abs for your age; she seems just to be trying to get you fruitlessly madder.  Jenny’s large, somewhat muscled hand presses down onto your stomach, feeling ice cold against your still somewhat warm body from the workout.  Her long fingers knead at your abs for a moment before lightly slapping them and recovering them with your shirt.  “Nope.  Nothing there.”

She jiggles her cheeks quickly against your face, and smiles wider.  “Kiss my ass, dude,” she says playfully, not really meaning it but honestly, she almost is making you do it just by sitting where she is.  She continues to sit on your face for several minutes, and she and Carly actually start up a conversation about whatever party is going on this weekend.  You’re getting ridiculously pissed off, and aren’t anticipating taking any prisoners with your words when you get out of this or your parents return home.  Whatever happens sooner.  Finally, their conversation draws to a close.  Jenny looks down at your side.

“You sound like kind of a jerk to your sister here, ummm…” she says, looking back up at Carly, who quickly says your name to her.  “…Jack…” continues Jenny, looking back down at you.  “So I think you ought to start treating her better.  Or next time I’ll just take my pants off and poop into that fat mouth of yours…” she says gleefully.  You want to strangle her as badly as you want to strangle Carly.  Your sister and her apparently extremely forward and rude friend break into laughter again, the chortles causing Jenny’s cheeks to clench against your mouth through her shorts.  She looks back down at you.  “Okay?  Sound good to you, Mr. Tough Guy?”  You nod obediently, just wanting to be released.  She nods to Carly, who starts undoing the knots under the couch Jenny tied.  Wow.  Your sister decided the only way to get you back for the camping trip was to bring in her Amazonian friend to act like a total bitch to you while you were completely vulnerable and defenseless.  As the ropes come undone, you finally are free.  Jenny doesn’t even bother sitting up, which is her own fault; you wrap your arms around her and throw her off, onto the couch.  It’s not a violent throw, as you still don’t intend on physically hurting someone, but it’s got enough force to at least be uncomfortable.  She hits the cushion headfirst, then sits back up, looking at you with the same evil eye Carly uses.  It must run in friend packs.  She lifts one of her gargantuan size 10s up in the air, pressing it against your stomach, pushing away from you.

“Get off me!” you growl angrily, swatting her foot away and standing up.

“Hey, girl, I don’t think your bro here has improved at all… if he falls asleep again, just call me up, we’ll try it again sometime,” she says somewhat sarcastically, just trying to get a rise.  It works.

“If you get your fat ass anywhere near me again, I’ll bite a piece of it off,” you growl with terrible ferocity, echoing through the house.

Quite truthfully, if Jenny wasn’t being such a total bitch, you would have more than likely been checking her assets out subtly.  As it is, though, you’re in too much of a rage to think of that.  Jenny's eyes suddenly well with tears, more in shock at the roaring level to which you just raised your voice, and you actually start to feel legitimate sorrow for what you just said to this girl that, despite being nearly eye level with you, is three years younger.  But no apology is said.  You have your pride.

               

“You can say anything you want to me, little bro,” says Carly, bringing you back to reality, her face twisting into another frown.  “Well, not anymore you can’t.  But you REALLY, can NOT, EVER talk to my friends like that again!  We’re only fourteen, but we’re women, and it’s time you started treating all of us a little better.  What you yelled at her… Jenny should have sat on you for longer.  I mean, if Jenny was here right now, and could see you like this, I’d gladly hand you over to her.  She’d pop your stupid little body right under her butt…”

                Suddenly, you begin to tremble in your sister’s cold toe cleavage, actually going into legitimate, uncontrollable convulsions, still hopelessly trapped in the guillotine of dry foot skin.  This isn’t… She can’t mean…

                “…Jenny’s not here, though, so I guess we’ll have to make do with mine instead.”

Chapter 4: Kiss My Ass by Jacksmith

She didn’t say that.  She didn’t say that.  Your little sister did not just say she was going to sit on you.  She couldn’t have.  Did she?

                Good God.

                You look horrified at your sister.  She’s thoroughly enjoying your reaction, soaking it in wordlessly, gaining immense pleasure from the abject terror now filling your mind.  She didn’t say that.  She didn’t.

                SHIT.

                You try to calm your raging subconscious.  As usual, it fails.  Your brain starts screaming at you to fight back.  You almost consider it, and try to shift your sides a little, but this only results in a somewhat painful scrape from Carly’s griddled big toe, which still has you firmly in place.

                “You’re such a jerk to me, Jack.  But that’s okay.  I can take it.”

                Mentally, you beg to differ.

                “I can take what you dish out at me.  But Jenny is my friend.  We were just having some fun.  We were just getting you back for what you did to me at the campsite last summer.  And you yelled at her like the gigantic meanie you are, when it was really me that did it.  So guess what, little bro?”

                You shiver.  It’s all you can do right now.

                “I’m going to make you remember why you can’t treat me or any other woman like that.  You CAN’T.  You don’t have the RIGHT to TALK to us like that!” cries out Carly passionately, clearly very involved in this whole apparent misogyny trip of yours.  Her voice almost cracks with how much emotion she has in that idea. 

Sweet Jesus.  She seems truly offended by your treatment of her friend.  She can’t even keep herself cool and collected while talking about the lesson to be learned like last time.  She actually is so legitimately caught up in defending womankind, she’s falling apart.

                This CANNOT be good for you or your survival chances.

                “CARLY!” you scream out.  Better get to work, the clock is running out for your possible argument time.  As it is, you have serious doubts you’ll be able to affect your fate, but you have got to try anyway.   It’s the only thing left.  “PLEASE.  Listen to me.  I… said things I shouldn’t have.  I do like women!  I respect women!  I’ll apologize to your friend, I never really meant what I said…” you yell out pleadingly, your brain literally starting to get high from fear.  You get a little woozy, your words trailing off.  So much for your dignity.

                “Shut up, Jack.”

                “But, please, Carly, just listen…”

                “Jack, shut up right now, or I’ll make sure you can’t get back up after I do it.”

                Mentally, you note the very high likelihood that you won’t be able to get up, anyway, even if she went as softly as possible.  You say a little prayer in your mind, keeping silent.  Carly nods.

                “Good.  Just keep your mouth shut a little more often, bro, and maybe it won’t hurt as much when I have to teach you manners,” she says, and suddenly her hand is reaching for you, her toes parting.  For a millisecond, you ponder the possibility of quickly leaping down the backside of her foot with her toe grip loosened and dashing.  But then you remember you’re on a bed.  There’s nowhere to run.

                Carly bunches her fingers up around your chest, lifting you up from that point.  It feels tremendously uncomfortable, and with nothing holding your limbs up, you get a huge butterfly in your stomach effect as you look below your helmet of finger flesh surrounding your gaze and below, watching as Carly’s hand travels inches above her long and muscular legs, back up to her face.  She parts her pointer finger and thumb, still holding you tightly around the chest with her other fingers, but ensuring you can see her face through the opening.  Her face is very stern, once again.

                “Jack, I want you to think about yourself.  I want you to think about how you treat women.  We aren’t THINGS you can just yell at, or push, or trip, or cuss at whenever you want.  We’re PEOPLE.  And as soon as you learn to treat us like people, and start listening to what I’ve been saying to you, then I won’t have to keep trying to teach you like this.  Does that make sense?  Don’t talk…” she adds quietly and seriously, leaning her head forward.  You nod sheepishly, with no other options at this point, your body shivering in fearful anticipation.  She nods back at you, confidently.

                “Good.  Now hold still.  If I feel you trying to get out, I’ll put you back down there for twice as long as before,” she adds, the evil grin finally cracking through the look of seriousness.

                Your shivering picks up.  She’s about to do it.  Your little sister is about to sit on you with her thirty foot long, cotton white short-clad, thousand ton ass.  Carly tilts her head, clearly feeling you shaking in her fingers.

                “It’s okay, little bro, there’s no need to be scared.  I’ll do my best not to fart on you…” she says with a gleeful laugh, and with that you’re being shaken around as she stands up off the bed.  You go down onto the cushiony bedspread with a hard smack, the fabric caving in slightly as you go into a laying down position.  You know there would be no point in running now, either, but at this point you honestly doubt you could convince your legs to move, so frozen are you.  Your gaze falls upward.  Carly, her back to you now, looks over her shoulder, down at you, then slowly starts to bend at the knee.

                You see the absolutely massive wall of white cotton folding downward.  A shadow suddenly is cast, covering you in faded darkness as your sister’s butt nears your helpless body.  You feel the mattress go down a little as Carly leans her legs into the edge of the mattress, getting leverage.  She plants her hands on either side, her palms flexing back to support herself for balance.  You look up one final time, her massive, white-clad ass in touching distance of you.  You look up straight at her, a pleading look in your eyes.  But all you see is her gleeful, toothy grin, the laugh wrinkles around her eyes creased.  Raising one hand, she regally waves at you, rippling her fingers slowly in a wave, and then suddenly everything disappears.

                What happens next is, to you, the equivalent of having a sumo wrestler swan dive off a rooftop, straight onto you.  The white fabric wall descends on you with speed, smacking you down into the cloth of the sheets, burying you alive inside them.  The absolute, all-consuming weight of your sister bears down on your helpless form ruthlessly.  You just know that any moment now, your bones will start cracking like twigs hit by a wrecking ball.  You’re really going to “pop” like she (you hope) jokingly threatened.

                As her cloth-clad cheeks press down on you, you can feel the slight give of her cheek flesh through the fabric.  After pushing down on you, jiggling ever so slightly (despite your sister’s state of fitness, at this size and proximity, you are able to distinguish the slightest of movements, rippling practically across your face).  As she slowly continues sitting down, though, you suddenly feel hardness pressing into your body all over, her powerful gluts flexing, working down onto you with incredible force, even though you aren’t in direct contact.

                You lean your head back, sucking air in as hard as you can.  Behind you, you see the smallest creeping light from outside from down the sloped hill of the smashed in bed sheet and underneath the endless, inverted field of cotton-clad, muscular ass cheek flesh.  You try to slow your breathing, your heart fluttering faster and faster, nearly causing you to hyperventilate.  Just breathe, you try to tell yourself.  Just breathe.  Breathe.

                Your sister is about to crush you like a jelly bean under her butt, whispers your subconscious.

                You push this from your mind as much as you can, closing your eyes, breathing slowly.  All around you, you feel the rough, shifting fabric rubbing across your body as Carly moves into a more comfortable position.  Finally, you feel an indent forming over yourself, some of the pressure relieving, although it still presses down slightly on you.  You realize that you’re directly under Carly’s butt crack, and you thank your lucky stars that your sister is wearing pants.

                Not that there are many things to thank your lucky stars for at this moment…

                With you safely in the space, centered directly below Carly’s butt cheeks, she begins to flex them, pulling them together with incredible, bulldozer-like force, smushing you lightly between them, deeper into the cushy ground of the bedsheet.  So close are you to it, you can literally feel like you can distinguish muscle fibers in Carly’s gluts pulsing together, working like a machine, methodically mashing you into a useless pulp.

 

                You can’t be certain how much time has passed.  A while ago, you heard faint, static-lined voices, which was at first confusing until you realized Carly was watching the TV you have near the end of your bed.  So little sound or light can get in under the small crevice Carly left between the back of her shorts-covered ass and the sheet, but you think that, for the second time now, you hear the ending credits music for a Gossip Girl rerun.  Second time that you were able to clearly distinguish, anyway.

                So, logically, you’ve been camping precariously, unable to move, powerless, able to die with a simple muscle shift, under the gigantic ass of your younger sister for two hours, possibly more since you’re pretty sure you heard the ending credits of some other show earlier that you can’t identify.

                About a dozen times or so in the last couple hours, you feel Carly’s muscular cheeks compress inward slowly, pinching you.  This is what causes the greatest pain, re-applying the unbelievably massive amount of pressure of most of your sister’s body weight onto your helpless body.  Out of response, your body jitters in pain as she squeezes her crack together above you.  You presume this is so she can feel you moving around, to ensure she hasn’t mashed you into a bloody stain.

You push upward with your forearms, hoping to create some more room for yourself.  You can push into the cottony covering over your sister’s cheek flesh for a moment, but it’s far too sturdy and thick to do for long.  Exhausted, you feel yourself sweating a storm in this steamy, compressed, claustrophobic space.  Your breathing hasn’t really slowed at all, keeping your heart rate at a level as if you were going for a brisk jog.

As with every terrible and mind-crushing experience you’ve gone through thus far, there’s a scent with it, so you can always connect these ideas to each other in the inevitable painful flashbacks you have later in your life (if there is a later).  Convenient.

The powdery Downy wafts around you, enclosing you in the chemical and flowery haze, causing your eyes to slowly water.  Through the shorts, though, you can smell the sweet, fruity cheeks of your sister from her recent washing with her women’s bath soap brand.  Despite how terrified you are at this moment, you reflect on the fact that this could have been worse had your sister not showered prior to this teaching.  Your nose twitches to imagine the smells that would have come from the cold, dried sweat coating Carly’s shorts, the muddy rank creeping from off her ass she’d no doubt been sitting on all morning to do the yard work.

The waiting continues, your body becoming drenched in your sweat.  It’s at least a welcome change to be drenched in your own sweat this time, instead of having it imported directly from your sister’s porous toe flesh.  You hear another credits sequence end.  Three hours now, at least.  You’re getting very tired just laying here, your energy being quickly expended with your sister’s simple action of sitting right on top of you, trapping you in the space right below her ass crack on your own bed.  You might as well have just run a mini, and you’re not even moving a muscle.  You can’t, in fact; you’re wedged so powerfully between the thin bed sheet and Carly’s omnipotent, tank-like gluts, you really don’t need to even try to hold up any part of yourself, besides your forearms (being the only thing you can move, although you’ve already found this to be useless).  Your stomach continues to gnaw violently at you, roaring loudly for food that you don’t have to give to it.

You think you must have nodded off for a bit, at least halfway, because without warning sunlight is streaming into your eyes, the sweltering sweatbox underneath Carly’s butt flying upward into the air, allowing cool air to flow over you.  You’re so damp with sweat, so compressed into the bed spread, and so unbelievably tired, you just sit there, panting, drinking in the fresh air like you can’t get enough.

You survived.  Somehow.

Carly turns around to face you, at full height, her chin tilted down to look at you.  She smiles cutely and arches her back over, her arm reaching out, her fingers curled ever so slightly, expectantly awaiting you being clutched powerlessly between them without objection.

“Jenny’s not sounding so bad anymore, is she, little bro?” she laughs slyly, wrapping her smooth, cold fingers around your motionless, overheated body.

End Notes:

Try not to be bothered by my painfully punny chapter titles; they're kind of a guilty pleasure.  ;)

Chapter 5: A Bit of Pampering by Jacksmith

Having felt how limp your hot and sweaty body had become in her fist, Carly now has you palmed up in both hands, so her fingers don’t make you even warmer once they squeeze you for long enough.  She brings you close to her mouth, pursing her lips into a smaller opening and quickly blowing out, sending cool air onto you.  Despite the occasional spittle particle that sprays out as well, the feeling is actually quite welcome considering how tired you are.  You normally enjoy working out and pushing yourself to the limit, but never in your life have you had to work as hard as you’ve worked in the last over half a day, and this was just from attempting to survive the endless onslaught of ways your sister has devised to mentally and physically torture you.

                You stretch outward weakly, allowing the cold air from your sister’s mouth to cover more space.  You yawn widely, still fatigued.  As you do, by chance a small particle of saliva sprayed out on accident as Carly blows comes out and goes directly into your throat like an icy bullet.  It stings for a second until you realize what happened.  Then you swallow it, not having the energy or care at this point to try and spit it out.

                You already have massive quantities of two of your sister’s bodily fluids flowing through your digestive tract at this moment.  What’s a little more?

                With your body sufficiently chilled and your constant sweating starting to slow, the blowing stops and you lay in your sister’s cupped hands once again, still exhausted.  Now that you don’t have to concentrate so hard on rationing your breaths like you did when Carly was sitting on you, you now notice just how much your stomach is rumbling.  You speak up.

                “Carly… I-I’m really s-sorry… but please, can I have some… food?” you whisper, although you’re close enough to her face that she can hear.  She frowns, shaking her head.

                “Sorry, little bro, but I can’ help you.  I gave you a chance to eat breakfast with me, and you ignored it.  Probably because you were trying so hard to become MY breakfast…” she says giggling a little. You groan.  If you live through this day by some miracle, you can tell it’s going to be a long one.  You don’t know for sure, but you’d bet it’s only early afternoon now.  And it’s only Saturday, your potential rescuer parents don’t return until LATE tomorrow night.

                Can you even live that long?  It’s a legitimate question to ask yourself, and the fact that the question itself is so legitimate to begin with pains you.

                But maybe one of your friends will show up.  A neighbor.  A cop.  Who knows, it’s the world; those things exist, they could show up for whatever reason.

                Then again, none of those people could come, and Carly will hide you away when your parents return, to continue toying with you in secret.  Tell them you ran off.  Would they buy it?  Surely not.  Would they?

                Then once again, maybe you don’t even have to ponder that.  Maybe Carly will just kill you instead to avoid the risk.

                These are not thoughts you actually intended to be having when you woke up yesterday morning, before all this began.

“But… I can’t… move.  If I don’t get… food, I won’t be able to… learn…” you mumble loudly, the cool air starting to partially revitalize you, but not so much that you can move freely just yet.  Carly shakes her head.

“You’re talking, little bro.  If you can talk, that means you’re awake.  And that means you can still do what I tell you to.  Don’t try to wimp out of it,” she answers, and you have a feeling that this debate is over.  “Now, I’m betting you think you’ve learned your lesson right now.  That you think you understand women now.”

You nod furiously.  “I do!  I do!”

No look of recognition.  “Stop it, Jack.  You can’t possibly respect us after just that.  We’re a complicated species,” she says, trying to sound dignified, tossing her hair over a shoulder.  “You couldn’t possibly fully APPRECIATE us yet…”

You shiver from the cold and returning fear.

“Wh-what do I have to…do?” you question nervously.

“WELL…” she begins dramatically, bringing you up to eye level so she can see you closer.  “Part of respecting women means to know when we’re in charge.  Guys think they can tell women what to do just because that’s how it’s been, but that’s not true.  Sometimes the woman can do that, too.”

You know that perhaps better than any man in history at this point.

“So…” she continues.  “…you’re going to show me your respect for women.  Just indulge me a little, Jack,” she says cheerfully.  You groan.

“How?” you ask, as if you want to know the answer.

“I’m betting you felt how much work I’ve been doing on these feet…” she says, looking down at them for a second before looking back up.  “I mean, between basketball and doing your JOB for you outside, they’ve kind of taken a beating.  You felt how dry they are, didn’t you?”

You nod slowly.

“Well, one thing you have to learn really quickly about women, Jack: they like to be pampered.  Now, I was going to go a parlor or something.  Get my feet done, have some lotion rubbed on there, you know.  Maybe grab some of those little pads so I can do it at home.  But you know…” she says, setting you gently back on the bed so she looks to be even higher up again.  “…I don’t have any of those sitting around.  So I was thinking I’d use you, instead…” she says, biting her lip thoughtfully, tapping at the edge of her mouth with her pointer finger.

“Carly… Look… I really CANNOT move…” you yell out, coughing, so she can hear you.  She studies you for a second, then nods.

“I think you’ll find you can when you really try to, little bro.  That’s what our coach says.  But just in case you can’t, I guess I don’t need you to move to do the job…” she says, sauntering out of the room, pounding the ground and shaking you in that irritating way she walks, stomping everywhere she goes.  No wonder her feet are like that, you think to yourself.  She returns half a minute later, a large, hot pink bottle clutched in one hand.  She sits down on the bed with a loud smack, this time her butt up near your pillow, sending you tripping over as the bouncy ground caves in to one side.  You push off the ground, slowly becoming stronger, and manage to stand uncomfortably; you look up to see Carly unscrewing the bottle.  You read the label.  You realize it to be some girly, flowery foot lotion.  She pops the cap off, laying it on the bed spread, then plants the bottle upright.

“You say you can’t move, huh, little bro?  You look like you’re standing up to me.  But just because I’m a nice person unlike you, I’ll help you out on the first part…” she says, her hand casting a shadow over you as she gets two fingers under your armpits to pick you up.  You glide through the air, wondering what’s going on, and suddenly you’re sitting over the plastic mouth of the almost full lotion bottle, the light pink goop just below you.  You start to squirm, realizing what’s going on.

“Carly!  Carly, listen to me, I can just do it if you get a little of it out for me…”

“No you can’t.  Have you SEEN how big my feet are compared to you?  You wouldn’t be able to do one toe, and right now, you’re going to be doing both feet.  So you’re going to need some extra.  Hold your breath!” she says sweetly, and suddenly her fingers are dashing you downward.  With a gooey plunk, you go into the stuff, gulping a massive swallow of air before you do.  The stuff is really thick, feeling like melted marshmallows, oozing over you from every direction.  You can smell the deep, womanly lavender scent, and you want to cough, but you will yourself not to for fear of getting a mouthful of it.  You feel your sister’s fingers moving you around in a stirring motion around the bottle’s mouth, your body being used like a spoon to twirl up the thick substance into a thinner, more useable form.  After around twenty seconds or so, you feel yourself rising, the pink goop almost staying attached to you as you rise upward, breaking the surface with an odd “blop” sound, sending driblets of the cool, pink liquid dripping off of you.  You look down at yourself.  You are absolutely covered from head to foot in it, your entire body in a thick, gooey film.  You bat the stuff from your stinging eyes to see Carly, and you instantly see her smile cracking into a laugh.  She giggles almost uncontrollably, not making any sound after a second for laughing so hard.

“Wait a second, bro…” she says, her other hand going into her pocket, from which she pulls her phone.  “I just want to make sure I remember this, the way you look right now…” she says, clicking through it and holding the phone up at your level.  She clicks, and a blinding flash sends your unprepared eyes into a blinking stupor, as Carly continues to laugh, clicking through a few buttons on her humongous cell phone while still gripping your oozing body over the bottle mouth.  She finally places it back in her pocket.  You don’t even have the energy to be mortifyingly embarrassed by what she just did.  You pray a little that no other eyes ever see that phone.

“NOW… let’s see you get to work a little, okay?” she says, returning her full attention to you and resting her other arm on her bare leg.  “I figure you’ll just start with my toes, and I’ll see if you can do the job right…”

You mentally shrug, unable to really do anything besides flail a little and send a few more pink dribbles down to the ground, your entire body still caked thickly in the lavender foot lotion.  Carly’s hand tilts downward, lowering you toward her feet.  She pulls her legs to her chest, retracting her feet in to be right in front of her.  Lowering you, she releases you onto the smooth top of her foot, right next to her ankle.  Your slick body easily slips down the slight incline of her foot, feeling the slight bumps of foot veins under your naked ass as you slide quickly down to her toes.  You land with an uncomfortable plop onto the bedspread, your mouth opening for a gasp of air and instantly getting a taste of the lotion.  It doesn’t taste nearly as good as it smells (which, at your size, is pretty sharp to begin with), and stings your throat, causing a slight burning sensation.  You spit a few times onto the bedspread, trying to get it out, but it doesn’t seem to be going away.  You look down at yourself, the pink dribbles concealing every inch of your skin, so thick is the layer of it.

Before you lie the feet of Carly, her toes rippling up and down as she waits patiently.  You take a groggy step forward, almost tripping in tiredness, and stop within touching distance of your sister’s left big toe, which, when flat on the ground like this, comes up above your knees. 

“C’mon, Jack, give your big sister a nice, relaxing pedicure.”

You take a step forward, and reach your hands out, placing them onto the top of your sister’s big toe.  This happens to be her nailbed, and it’s so white and stretched looked around the edge, that it feels like you’re pressing your hands into a rock and dirt formation, minus the residue left on your hands.  You begin to rub thoroughly into the chalky white skin patches around her nail and even up against a small piece of peeling skin that stands up about as tall as one of your hands.  You press your fingers into it, kneading.  Then, as you feel your hands becoming clean, you realize how much work there is to do, as you look at your sister’s toe and only see the moistened luster of the applied lotion in a layer around her nail.  You shrug and swipe your hands back along your stomach for a fresh supply of goop, then return, this time swiping your hands from the edge of her fleshy toe and down the side.  Her toe is so massive around that you can’t actually reach all the way down, but you try, leaning yourself down on her rock-like, ivory-clad big toe, trying not to let her nail scratch you, and knead hard into the flesh on the side of her toe.  Once you think you have this toe done, you start to move over to the side, but Carly is quick to speak.

“Where do you think you’re going, little bro?  You didn’t get the bottom yet.”

You watch as she splays her toe backward as far as she can, creating a small space underneath for you to reach, if you were in a crouching position.  You look up at her face, swiping the goop off the space around your eyes so you can see more clearly, and see Carly’s head tilted down at you, incessant in her expression.  You look away from her face, get down on your belly, and crawl underneath her held up big toe, creating a slick under your back from the lotion lining it.  Slapping your hands together in preparation, you reach up and get to work.  You run your fingers along the spiraling toe print, and at this size you can actually feel the indent it creates, the microscopic bump of flesh circling around her toe in macabre patterns.  Despite your sister’s shower, you can also, unfortunately, feel the slightest trace of nearly invisible grime lining the spaces between her toe print rings.

After doing this for a moment, Carly evidently realizes you’re not actively scrubbing at her toe, because her toe is suddenly mashing down on you.  You tilt your head backward quickly in response (you’ve had to get good at this very quickly recently), your head bumping against the top of her foot as the brunt of her big toe presses down onto the cool, milky pink substance coating your stomach.  She grinds her toe print into your abs, the graying rings of dried, peeling flesh around the edge of her toe pushing down as well, the entire muscular mass of fleshy, peachy meat mashing you downward into your own pink lotion-drenched puddle.

Knowing full well what you have to do to get Carly to release you from this submission hold, you hug your arms upward around the bulbous toe flesh and start to rub around with your forearms, smearing the goop all along Carly’s arid toe flesh, the slight, dry creases moistening with your hard work.

Admittedly, the coolness of the lotion helped your sweating body out a little, but the effort of pressing into the taut skin of your sister’s big toe, feeling the muscle underneath after not much give in the desiccant grooves of her flesh, is starting to tucker you out again, undoing the effects of the brief break you had after your three hour sweat box session under Carly’s monumental ass.

You continue kneading as hard as you can into the dry skin on the toe, the lotion finally helping matters as the flush flesh becomes slick and smooth with the liquid residue, blending in tone with her healthy toe.  Despite the cool lotion, your hard rubbing into the massive of rough flesh is actually generating a little bit of heat, leaving a deep burning sensation in your forearms.  Finally, after what feels like roughly ten minutes, the toe releases the not-painful but firm pressure on your abdomen.  Now able to take full breaths, your arms drop off of your sister’s toe as she lifts it up, curling it in to give you some room.   You pant briefly, your head swimming as blood is allowed to flow a little more regularly into your brain.  Upside down from your sister, you look straight backward from your prone position on the bed to see your sister grinning ear to ear.

“Hey, that wasn’t bad, little bro.  Only nine to go!” she grins enthusiastically, her fingers descending on you quickly.  “Looks like you’re running a little low on lavender there.  Let’s fill you up again…” she says, her fingers clutching at your damp, slippery body and lifting you back toward the lotion bottle for another inevitable, gooey dunk.

 

Releasing your pink-lotion coated, blistered hands from the bottom of your sister’s final, now-greasy pinky toe, you collapse before the pair of massive, muscular feet.  You’ve just finished an hour and a half massaging your little sister’s calloused, dry toe grooves in the roughest, driest sections of human skin you believe you’ve ever touched in your life.  Obviously, the effect is amplified a hundred times over because of your size, but it’s still a little odd to you just how completely peeled and battered your sister’s toes are.  You close your eyes, just trying to let your heart rate regulate.  You cough up a little of the thickness in your throat from all the work you’ve done onto the bed spread next to you, your face beet red in heat.  Your sweat has mixed in with the pink lotion completely at this point, although you highly doubt your sister would care.  Ironically, you imagine she’d probably be thrilled with the idea of you putting literal sweat from your labors right onto the disgustingly dried and cracked bottoms of her toes.

                “Why are you resting, little bro?  You haven’t even gotten to the BIGGEST part yet,” adds Carly, sounding a bit confused in your apparent error of judgment.  You look to your side and see Carly standing her foot up, holding her freshly lotioned toes in the air, resting on her heel again.  Her fingers slip between her toe crevices, sliding in and out a little before retracting.  “Hmm… wow, it actually feels like you did a good job, Jack.  I’m a little surprised.  Maybe I should use you for this more often…” she says with a cruel little giggle, and you know full well that she’s only half-joking.  “Now get up and stop being lazy.  I gave you a job to do, and you’re pooping out on me halfway through.”

                You roll onto your side and try to stand up, but your absolutely beat arms don’t allow it, and you trip right onto your gooey face, into the soft bed spread.  Carly instantly begins cackling, throwing her head and hair back, her hands gripped tightly around her large ankles as she rocks back and forth a little before recomposing herself.

                “Oh my G… you really… you really can’t move, can you?” she says, and you almost see tears of laughter welling in her eyes.  “I mean, you REALLY can’t move…”

                “No…” you groan loudly and somewhat sarcastically so she can hear you.

                “Well, there’s not need to be a jerk about it, little bro, I can hear you just fine without the attitude.  Remember?  I thought you said you learned your lesson.  Say you’re sorry.”

                “Sorry…”

                “Nicer.”

                “I’m… sorry, Carly.”

                “That’s better,” she says, smiling and wiping the laugh tears from her left eye.  “Now, we just have the problem of you finishing a job that you’re apparently too weak to do.  What’s the matter, bro?  They’re just ten toes.  Ten tiny little toes.  You really can’t handle those?”

                To be fair with yourself, you probably could have, but coupled with the fact that you’ve been facing nonstop physical and mental duress this entire day, the toe massage was really just the straw that broke the camel’s back.  Or your back, at any rate.  You groan audibly, knowing there’s not a correct answer to her question.

                “I guess you have worked pretty hard, huh?” she says, sounding gentle again.  “Well, I suppose I can pick up the slack for you, just this once.  Now hold real still, and try not to squirm…” she says, her hand wrapping around your sticky, overheated body and lifting you up.  You look forward and suddenly realize that she’s gone back into a cross-legged position, and she’s stretched out her right leg so that her sideways foot (and the bottom) are in full reach.

                 You have no time to react.  You instinctively throw your hands up to defend your body, but it’s of no use as you body-slam right into Carly’s foot like a pancake.  The fingers holding you sideways and parallel with the foot around your legs and sides pin you down, plastering you into the wrinkled sole flesh.  It’s actually very doughy and cool, and unlike her dry toes, doesn’t cause you pain to be pressed into.  You oxygen flow is stunted once again, but it’s okay; she’s not grinding you, at the very least.  After holding on to you for a second, you feel her plushy fingers let go, but you remain in place.  Carly laughs loudly as you try to shift your arms, glued tightly in place to the steadily drying, sticky residue of the remaining lavender lotion coating you, the gummy ends snagged firmly into your sister’s sole wrinkles.  You are literally unable to move, stuck squarely onto your sister’s foot by the lotion, your face pressed hard into the cushy flesh, your dick almost entirely consumed by a curled sole crinkle.

                Now immobilized once again and realizing that your sister isn’t intending on snatching you up off her massive foot bottom a few seconds afterward, you are left with your thoughts again, finally able to concentrate on more than mental pain shifting and just surviving.

                The memories of what’s befallen you in the last almost-day long journey in your already unhealthy and constantly vengeful relationship with your younger sister resume taking a toll.  Despite your sister’s uncommon craftiness for one her age, you were always secure in the knowledge that you were morally justified in getting her right back for any humiliation she tried to cause you (at least in your own morals set, you were).  But now, your relationship has become pretty literally one-sided, as your sister has you wide open for a ruthless barrage of attacks, with you completely unable to defend yourself in any way other than trying to keep your mind from collapsing in on itself, and even this is becoming harder and harder. 

                For example, to your subconscious you think, you’re currently stuck, naked and humiliatingly, to the bottom of your sister’s dry foot, slightly greased with the lotion you just applied with your own gummy extremities, trapped like a bug on a windshield.  She has you so in her control, there may never be a thing you can do to undo this, even if you regained your size and beat her for what she’s done to you so cruelly.  For the rest of your time alive, your essential enslavement by your sister in the most vulnerable day of your life will haunt you, either in physical pain or horrible recurring visions.

                After several minutes of sitting there, breathing the deep lavender scent and fleshy, body wash scent of Carly’s feet in through the small crevice of space between your mouth and your sister’s wrinkled sole, you feel the cool fingers grabbing at you, and with a barely audible brittle cracking sound of the now-dried and settled lotion on your front side you come undone.

                “Sorry about that, little bro, I just couldn’t help myself.  That couldn’t have been that bad, anyway, the middle of my foot’s a lot softer than the rest of it…” she affirms somewhat correctly.  “…but now that I’ve let you have a little break on there, I’m ready for you to finish up.  Take a deep breath…” she says, dunking and swirling you in the sea of pink, fresh lotion again, you becoming quite used to this at this point, as she re-applied your lotion coating at the conclusion of every individual toe massage so you could paint a new coat of it onto the dry sides and bottoms of her toes.

                Plunking you out of the goop, you now dripping from head to foot in a newly oiled supply of the lavender swamp fluid, she brings you back to her foot without hesitation.  This time, she slams you hard into the ball of her foot, the driest section.  As she rubs you rhythmically and quickly, her fingertips slightly vibrating against your sides, the absolute island of dry, peeling flesh on her ball pierces through the protective, jelly-like layer of lotion, and instantly gets to your raw skin.  Your dick, as well, is pressed powerfully and hopelessly into the rough patch, and you actually feel your dick bumping along a little as it gets partially snagged on peeling skin flakes that are jutting out loosely from the ball, again sending the sensation of having your crotch hit with a baseball bat up into your hapless gut.  After roughly a dozen strokes or so across her thick, tanned foot ball, you feel a sharp stinging in your chest.  You instinctively moan as the sore spot is continually ground into the slight, hilly wrinkles covering your younger sister’s foot. 

Then, as you feel the center of the ball begin to get slicker with the steadily depleting layer of pink goo surrounding your body, you feel Carly’s fingers tighten as she moves you a little to the left on her still sideways foot, violently dragging your sweaty, mangled body onto the whitened, almost powdery edge surrounding the ball, the driest part of Carly’s entire foot, even more than the ball or heel itself.  To ensure this section is thoroughly lotion coated, Carly begins rubbing your helpless body in a circular motion around the circumference of her foot ball.  As your raw and scratched chest is scraped roughly across by another loose foot skin flake, you cry out in pain, gritting your teeth a little too late as a another burning mouthful of lavender foot lotion fills your mouth, most of it already stuff that had been partially absorbed into the now-steadily moistening foot of your sister.

You flatten your head to the side like a swimmer as you rocket around the seemingly endless and dizzying track of your sister’s foot ball, the ground steadily becoming glistening and slippery, more apt for your body to be dragged so hard across.  You start to notice a little line of dark red, extremely thin and probably unnoticeable to the normal-person-sized eye, running in the same circular track underneath you.  You press your cheek down as hard as you can, getting it slammed by a passing ball wrinkle like a speed bump, trying to look down.  You see sizeable scratches having formed along your chest, bleeding ever so slightly in such a crimson, raw form.  They don’t appear dangerously deep, but there are at least half a dozen lining the top of your ravaged chest, as if you had just fallen off of a bike onto the hard pavement (or in this case, a dry foot).  The stinging continues, and you close your eyes, praying for the lesson to be over soon as Carly continues to polish her dusty heel with you as her human lotion applicant, painting her foot ball in a thin, barely visible line of your blood and sweat.

Chapter 6: Hung Out to Dry by Jacksmith

Everything shifts to a blur as your sister continues grinding your lithe and helpless body against her newly slicked foot ball, using up every drop of foot lotion left smeared on you.  You are conscious of her speaking calmly at you to hold your breath, and almost out of instinct you take a deep breath and close your eyes as you are dunked a final time into the bottle.  After that, you’re aware that you’re being applied to her other foot ball, the final dry section, but your chest, although slightly still stinging, has started to mellow out, numbed.  It’s an improvement, at least.

                With a final, triumphant swipe, your extremely greasy body having no more visible lotion to surrender to your sister’s foot, the cold, soft fingers release you and you fall straight to the ground of the bed spread, which was honestly not far down since her foot has been resting on its side, but you were unable to touch it this whole time as Carly used your tired and apparently now-useless form to finish applying the foot lotion, holding you just above ground level.

                Pampering.  That was the word she used.  You look down at your chest and slowly run a hand over it, the blood no longer flowing but the scratches from the peeling skin coating your chest and abs, your entire front completely red, as if you were just whipped with a wet towel continuously.  Pampering.  If this is the type of pampering women want, you think sarcastically, you don’t ever intend on indulging a woman.  That is, if you live long enough to become normal again and meet one worth pampering.  Your sister would normally have not exactly fit the bill for a soothing foot massage and pedicure, but it’s not like you had much say in the matter.

                Silence hangs in the air for a few moments, your stinging, scratched chest rising and falling normally as you regain your breath.  You try to sit up, but it stings a little too much.  You see Carly’s huge face looming over you as she leans over to observe the work you’ve done on her peds.  And the work she’s done on you.  You watch as her fingers run smoothly over the balls of her feet, rubbing it to test the job.  Finally, nodding her head, her eyes meet yours once again.

                “That’s how you treat a woman, little bro.  So next time you feel like saying something or doing something just because you feel like you can to us, I want you to remember how you feel right now.”

                You groan, your chest stinging like crazy.  It’s hard to say what hurts more right now: your hungry stomach or your ravaged upper torso.

                “You look a little messed up there, Jack.  Here…” she says, reaching to the side table of the bed and grabbing a tissue.  “I don’t want you getting yourself all dirty…” she says, pushing a thumb into the tissue and bringing it to your chest, pressing.  The stinging increases immediately, and you clench your face together, tightening your fists, as your sister dabs at your body with the tissue.  After a minute or so of this, her finger rises back up with the tiniest dots of blood on the tissue.  She tosses it off to the side of the bed, clearly not caring about the cleanliness of your room.  “There!  All cleaned,” she says positively. 

Suddenly you hear the soft trail of a pop song ringtone coming from Carly’s pocket.  She swipes out her phone, putting it to her ear.

“Hey, weirdo face,” she says playfully.  “What?  Elaine, I can’t-I can’t hear you, talk louder!  What?  Right now?” she says, looking down at you thoughtfully before nodding.  “Sure, I’m not doing anything.  Great.  See you in like fifteen minutes.”

Carly snaps the massive piece of machinery closed, re-pocketing it.

“Listen, little bro, you don’t look like you can move anymore, so it’s not like I can actually use you for anything right now.  I’m going to go to Elaine’s for a little while.  So just try to relax,” she says, and a second later her fingers are folding underneath your back and lifting you up gingerly.  “And maybe if you actually can wake up, we’ll have some more fun later on,” she says, smirking.  “I hope you appreciate all these lessons, Jack.  How they’re going to make you a better person.  You do, don’t you?”

“Ungh.”

“Louder, little bro.”

“Yea…”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she says, grinning ear to ear and closing her fingers around your chest tightly, stinging you through to your core, forcing you to grunt painfully.  “That’s what big sisters are for, after all!”

 

You’re in total, pitch blackness.  The gnawing feeling of your stomach, begging you painfully for food, has at least subsided because of the sensation of tightness now covering your midsection.  You’re currently tied up in a thick, pink shoe lace around the stomach and back and dangling helplessly in midair from a hangar in Carly’s closet, the lace long enough (on purpose, of course) that there’s no shirt hanging low enough from the clothes rack for you to reach up and grab onto.  After you’d been in the dark for the first couple hours or so, just calming your breathing, thankful that due to the blackness you couldn’t see how high of a drop it was to the carpet below, you tried swinging back and forth, gaining some momentum, but you could never swing high enough to touch another solid object.

Your chest still stings from the tight little squeeze Carly gave to you prior to tying you up like a little sack of meat and leaving you hanging here for her to find you later, conveniently immobilized just like she left you.  You wonder if this is how sides of beef feel after they’ve gone through the meatpacking grinder.  You note how bitter and sarcastic even your idle, passing thoughts have become in the past day.

You think of Elaine, normal-sized and hanging out with your little sister just three blocks away, unaware of the fact that her best friend just subjugated a human being in painful, dehumanizing ways that threatened to crush your spirit, that at one point made you nearly desire death over continued humiliation and torture.  You think of Carly, the fact that she’s probably listening to one of her cheesy pop songs and helping Elaine pick out an outfit for the slew of weekend parties coming up: how easily she’s probably reintegrated herself into real life after descending so deeply into cruel and violent madness.  The way her moods flip-flop around you, you just know that she’s capable of turning it on like a light switch, putting on that mask of cuteness: freckles, blond hair, deep eyes, and a perfect white smile, to hide the incredible darkness inside of her, the bottomless desire and need she has to force you to be a piece of dirt; her piece of dirt to play with, laugh at, hurt, keep tied up in her closet for hours on end with nothing but a cold breeze from the AC to keep company.

                You sway your legs, swinging back and forth absent-mindedly.  Despite the fact that most of your body is now very chilly from the wide open space your temperature has been regulating into, your chest wounds still burn and sting a bit, so the cool air actually helps alleviate the pain.  It’s the only thing you have to try and heal yourself for whatever’s next, to desperately try and prepare yourself for another brutal onslaught of your sister’s brand of life lessons.  The day’s almost over.  It’s only been a single day since you shrunk down to less than three inches tall in a scientific anomaly you wonder if the world will ever be able to truly answer.  A single day since you were found by your sister, at first gratified and relieved to be carried up in her warm, soft hands.  A single day since you realized the deepness of your sister’s precocious insanity towards you, her ruthless and unstoppable drive to purge you of all the faults she sees in you.  It feels like a lifetime ago.

                You wonder if you’ll be alive in another twenty-four hours.  Each lesson seems to be getting worse and worse.  With each event, you, in pain, sorrow, and utter humiliation, mentally proclaim that THIS is as bad as it can get.  Live through this, and you’re home free.  But you know this is so untrue, after each successive event, despite the fact that even now, your brain refuses to accept the idea that it can get worse.  It can’t.  It just can’t.

                False.  It can.  It ALWAYS can.

                The door swings open with a massive creak, and you are suddenly about chest level with your massive sister, light flooding the closet from her bedroom, the chill wind of the door swing sending you bouncing back and forth ever so slightly from the breeze.

                “Did you miss me, Jack?”

                The massive fingers grab onto your naked, suspended body, twisting the shoe lace around so that you’ll face your sister’s face fully.  She steps partway into the closet, her face just above you.

                “Mmmmm?” she murmurs gently, the tips of her fingers kneading your battered obliques and stomach as she holds you in place, still tightly attached to the shoe lace.  “Did you miss your big sister?” she says, in a lower, more expectant voice to make sure you hear her correctly.  The string still bobbing you a little despite her grip on you, you nod, dizzy, your eyes adjusting again to the light blinding you.

                She smiles, then stretches her massive arms upward, above your head to the place where the shoe lace is tied to the hangar.  In a couple of seconds, her fingers undo the knot, and she grabs it up at the top of the lace in a fist, removing you from the closet as she takes a couple steps back, but she keeps her hand up at that level, continuing to dangle you in front of her face.  Her eyes widen in wonder as if seeing you for the first time, watching you squirm fruitlessly from your vulnerable dangling position.

                “I’m glad.  Because I DEFINITELY missed you…” she whispers quietly, pulling the string closer to her face.  As you continue to spin around, you see her massive lips pucker up, the plushness wrinkling on itself.  With a final swing, you back smacks into her bouncy lips, and you feel the slightest give of suction on your back as she kisses you gently, the dampness of her lips actually giving way to a small splotch of wetness she plants onto your back, fresh from the depths of her mouth.  Giving a small pop, she releases her lips from your body and pulls you back out, smiling as you spin around in circles.  However, this look doesn’t last long, because as you spin around again, this time facing her, she pulls you in again.  Her massive, sopping lips press onto your battered chest this time, wrinkling her plush lips against you, her upper lip right under your chin.  You feel your wounds dampening in her slobbery smooch, the slight suck from her lips on your upper body as gently as possible.  Then, as she releases you again, you look at the dribble of wetness left as a mark on your chest.  A single drop of warm saliva trickles down your chest and abs and into your crotch, where it settles in, moistly tickling and heating your freezing dick.

                “I mean, I was thinking about you the WHOLE time I was gone…” she says, bringing a finger up to you.  Holding her extended pointer finger out, she bats at your right shoulder, sending you spinning around quickly.  Just as the lace stops twisting and you come to stop, she bats your other shoulder with the fleshy pad of her fingertip, sending you off in the other direction.  “…I was thinking about how much fun we were going to have when I got back.  You know, little bro…” she says.  “I actually kind of like hanging out with you now.”

                You just bet she does.  Your vision blurs as you try to regain your sense of direction, very dizzily.

                “So, I think I’m kind of hungry.  I’m going to go make some dinner.  Do you want to come?” she says, tilting her head to the side to get a better look at your face.  You grimace and nod weakly.  Maybe she’s actually going to ensure you have enough strength to continue on now by feeding you.  Your stomach growls hungrily, giving you that hollow feeling again at the mere thought of food.

                “Okay.  Here, let me just…” she says, her other hand going to the top of the lace again.  Roping it down, she ties a new knot around the top of the other knot, just above the tie point around your stomach; this creates a loop in the lace.  Then, her fingers hooked under the lace, she lifts it over her head, sending up for just a moment before she settles the loop around her neck, wearing you as a necklace on her shoestring.  Without another word, your sister starts off.

                Carly power walks confidently down the hall, a new spring in her step, a slight bit of extra bounce.  As she does, you are continually slammed back and forth from the chill, gravity-defying space in front of Carly and then back with a hard wham into her tight yellow shirt, slamming into the space right in the middle of her chest.  Admittedly, you note to yourself, your sister (toned and athletic as she may be) hasn’t really developed much, so at the very least, there’s no uncomfortable mass of hard flesh for you to smack into with each stroke.  Of course, at this size, you can still feel what she’s got, and even at their smaller size to a normal person, the give they have bounces you back outward in tandem with Carly’s overdramatic stomps like a taut trampoline, only to reel you back in for a hard blow to your bruised body from your sister’s teenaged chest.

As you pass the windows leading outside, you see that it’s pitch black.  You must have been in the closet longer than you thought; you would surmise that it’s around 8 o’clock now.

Carly re-enters the kitchen, still wearing you around her neck, and begins to walk more slowly now, opening the refrigerator.  The icy and biting conditions inside the gargantuan vault of chilled foods rolls out at you in a visible cloud, and it makes you shiver.  With nothing else to go on, you grab onto the thick, rug-like fabric of Carly’s tight shirt, trying to hug it around yourself, shivering from the cold.  Carly looks down at you, chuckling.

“Too cold for you, bro?  Just give me a second… I have to choose what I want for dinner…” she says thoughtfully, putting a finger to her lips as if seriously contemplating.  She keeps the door open for over a full minute, leaving you to cling desperately to her shirt for warmth, or at least the little warmth it has to give.  Finally, her hand shoots up and grabs onto the jar of grape jelly and she removes it, shutting the door at long last.  “I’m sorry if you didn’t like that, Jack.  But I just couldn’t DECIDE…” she says, grinning.  Under normal circumstances, you would have expended the necessary energy to think to yourself what a gargantuan bitch she is, but you stopped caring about certain things like this a while back.

Your next trip brings you slamming back into Carly’s tender chest as she stops in front of the pantry, from which she removes a fresh bag of white bread and a half-emptied jar of smooth peanut butter.  Placing all the ingredients on the kitchen counter along with a butter knife, you watch greedily from your perch above the scene as Carly removes two pieces of bread and slowly spreads each substance very thickly over them.  You feel your mouth water just seeing it as her massive hands powerfully handle the knife, squeezing the metal as she swoops through the cool jelly and gummy peanut butter, redoubling the thick layers of the stuff into the sandwich before closing it all with a smack of her palm.  Picking up the sandwich, Carly takes a seat at a bar stool that happens to sit in front of your kitchen island.  The three overhead lamps of your kitchen’s makeshift bar shine down and blind you as you try to shield your vision from above, looking anxiously down at the sandwich.  Carly lightly places the massive sandwich, about double the length of your body end to end, down on the counter.  Your eyes gleam as you watch a few crumbs tumble off the crust and land on the marble counter, illuminated by the reflection of the light above.  You can almost taste it.

“Do you want to get down, now, little bro?” says your sister kindly, looking down at you.  You shake your head feverishly, hardly able to wait.  Her cool fingers close around your body, lifting you up as she unhooks the shoelace from around her neck, her soft palm cradling you as she lowers you toward the marble.  She stops just short of the ground, and begins undoing the knot with her large fingers.  Secretly, you wish she would just leave the knot on for now and let you eat, but you can live with it.  You’re seconds away from the pain in your stomach going away.  The knot comes undone in her hand, and she lowers it all the way to the ground, tilting it to the side, allowing you to gleefully leap from her hand to the counter.  You’re still very tired, although it did help to have a sort of respite in the dark closet.  With your motivation so close, you feel like you could run ten marathons.

You dash forward, your hands outstretched, your stomach gurgling.  So close.  With your hands just inches away from the beautiful, fresh bread crust, you watch as a shadow is cast over your head.  Your sister’s hand darts down, her fingers pressing into the cushy white part of the bread, pinching it, as she lifts it up and off the counter.  You turn around frantically as Carly lifts it up to her face.

You watch as Carly’s plush lips compress together ever so slightly before parting, opening her mouth wide.  Inside, even from down here, you can see half a dozen thick strands of translucent slaver connected to the top and bottom rows of Carly’s teeth.  Her tongue, shining with mucus-clogged spit, rises up and slides over the top of her lips, tapping the bread.  Carly giggles a little as she pokes at the crust with her tongue, just tasting the bread, releasing a spray of microscopic crumbs down to the counter below.

Finally, you watch as her hands shift forward, moving the bread closer to her lips and inside them.  A corner of the sandwich disappears into the dark cave, two gleaming rows of pure white teeth biting downward.  They press together, mashing down the bread corner like a mattress under a steamroller as your sister rips through the soft, grainy fibers and into the juicy interior of the sandwich.   You hear a soft squishing sound as her teeth slide easily through the generous layers of peanut butter and grape jelly.  Pulling the remainder of the sandwich back from her mouth, Carly’s eyes meet yours, squinting into a cheeky smile.  Gloating.  You feel sick, your heart crushed, your stomach growling more than ever.  She’s taunting you.  She knows how much you want; correction, how much you NEED to be fed right now, and yet she does this, holding the food just out of reach.  She could so easily tear off the tiniest corner, half a bite’s worth for her, and it would be a feast for you, saving your life.  But she doesn’t.  She doesn’t need to.

You distinguish the absolute pleasure in her eyes as she watches your body begin to tremble, feeling a lot sadder than you have in a long time.  All over a PB&J.

With the bite still trapped in her mouth, your sister finally begins to chew, slowly, fully extending her jaw all the way.  You watch as her lips part again; inside you watch as the grinding chompers ground up the sandwich into a white and tan pulp inside her mouth, her glossy froth-covered tongue twisting around madly, churning the bready mush into a liquid for her to easily swallow and digest.

You stagger forward, uneasy.  You don’t even know what you’re doing, you can’t even think now.  You just need food, and you need it desperately.  You pad across the cool marble floor of the kitchen island, walking until you’re directly underneath Carly’s chin, and the roof of wonderful-looking, soft, white bread that could so easily ease your pain with just a few crumbs.

“Oh, God, so GOO-” Carly begins to say, her speech muffled by the fluffy, phlegm-logged bite of sandwich still being swished around in her mouth.  As she says it, you look up and see the corner of her lips part just a bit.  A long stalactite of drool begins to drip out of the corner, so thick has it become from the mushy mix inside her mouth, that it remains attached for several seconds, stretching down at the base of her chin before breaking.  You have no time to react as the gooey dribble falls down, splashing directly against your face.  You wipe the sticky wash away quickly and uncaringly, waiting intensely.  Surely she’ll give in soon.  You need food so badly, surely she knows.

                With a hard and loud gulp that echoes down to you, you watch the small bump under Carly’s skin working its way down into her throat as she swallows the bite.

                “Mmmm… I love peanut butter and jelly…” she says slowly and dramatically, clearly trying to remind you how distinctly un-sandwich-possessing you are at the moment.  You almost want to cry in frustration.  But you can’t.  You have to stay strong if you’re going to get anything done.  You walk out a bit further, still trying to swab away the gooey dribble on your cheeks, and look up at your sister’s massive face, which turns down toward you as well.

                “P-please, Carly… may… may I please have a-a little piece?” you say, much more pleadingly than you intended to, your stuttering not so much out of tiredness at this point, but more out of nervousness at the stern look Carly gives you as you begin speaking.  As if she didn’t already know exactly what you wanted.  You don’t even care anymore, you just want a piece of the damn sandwich.  As soon as you finish your sentence, though, you are surprised to see the sternness melting away, leaving a look of concern.  It reminds you of the one time your sister has actually looked kindly at you in the last day: while she gave you a bath in the sink.  Is she actually going to do it?  Mentally, you hope with all your might.

                “Oh… I…” she begins, sounding almost flustered.  “I’m sorry, little bro.  I guess I hadn’t thought of that.  You’re tired, aren’t you?”

                You nod.

                “I thought so…” she coos gently.  You’re dangerously close to being soothed here.  “Are you hungry, little Jack?”

                You nod again, with more fervor this time.

                “I’m sorry.  You poor thing, you’re tired and hungry and I’m here eating right in front of you.  Of course you can have some.  Here, let me just…” she says, a hand disconnecting from her squeezing grip on both sides of the sandwich.  Using two fingers, she pinches off a small chunk of crust.  It’s not much, but it’s plenty for you.  Almost anything would be.

                You hold out your hands, up in the air, gleefully awaiting it.  Finally, it’s coming.

                However, just as her fingers, with the crust chunk pinched between nears your hands, you watch her massive mouth open again as wide as possible.  With a quick flick of her wrist, your sister sends the small bread ball flying backward, into her damp mouth cave.  Her teeth close around it with a massive, gleaming smile, locking it helplessly inside her mouth.

 

                It occurs to you how helpful it would be, at this moment, to have a large punching bag in front of you so you could whale on it until your fists bleed.  That way, you’d at least be safe from the potential danger of looking your sister in the face and screaming at her what a bitch she is.

               

Wordlessly, she begins to chew, smiling at you.  You want so badly to eat something now that you begin to get a severe headache.  You can’t believe how far she’s been willing to drag this out.  The trauma she’s putting you through right now in the simple act of eating a sandwich is mind-boggling.

                After a few minutes of chewing, you watch Carly’s mouth stop moving, and she looks upward, as if concentrating.  You see a form pressing against the inside of her cheek, rolling around.  Finally, her lips part as she lowers her face slightly lower to the countertop.  Then, tipping her tongue, you watch a tan blur fly past your face and land with a slimy squish on the marble.

                You look ahead of you to see an amorphous ball of sputum-laced, viscid bread-mush a bit larger than your head.

                You look up at your sister questioningly, unmoving.

                “I thought you were hungry, little bro,” she says, and all a sudden, her twisted, evil grin returns, stretched across her billboard face as what she’s telling you to do sinks in.

Chapter 7: Carly's Mouth Kitchen by Jacksmith

“C-Carly… p-please…” you mutter loudly, shaking your head, trying to force it from your mind.

                Sickeningly, you realize that you very nearly dashed forward across the tile and dove into the pile of warm bread and saliva mush your sister has gifted to you.

                “Please, just a fresh piece…” you say loudly, as respectfully as possible.  “… please?”

                Carly stares at you, considering your plight (it seems, anyway) as she takes a larger, more pensive bite of her sandwich and begins to chew methodically.  After about thirty seconds of near silence, where all you hear is the soft munching sound inside Carly’s mouth, she swallows, clears her throat, and speaks.

                “You don’t want anything to eat?  That’s fine,” she says casually, reaching down with her fingers and grabbing up the mushy ball, popping it back into her mouth and swallowing it whole.

                “No!  No, that’s… that’s not what I m-mean…”

                “Jack, stop babbling for two seconds.  You said you were tired, right?”

                “Yeah…”

                “And you said you were hungry, right?”

                “Uh-huh…”

                “Well then…” says Carly, leaning her head back and propping the elbow of the sandwich holding arm up on the countertop near you.  “From the way you looked earlier, you were so tired you couldn’t even walk.  How are you supposed to be able to chew anything?” she says, her lips curling upward from the corners.  “Remember?  I’m your big sister.  I do things to help you,” she says, grinning.

                Yes.  That’s EXACTLY what she’s doing.  She’s being a kind, compassionate soul.

                No.  She’s totally just trying to force you, in your state of desperation, to eat her spit.

                “I-I know!  But, I promise, I can chew now, I can, I’m feeling…”

                “If you wanted me to believe that, you wouldn’t have collapsed like you were dead or something on the bed and forced me to do the second half of my pedicure.  Seriously, Jack, I don’t think it’s too much to ask for you to get down to business and do a half-decent job sometimes, but I still have to just shove you around to make sure you learn your manners.”

                “Carly, plea-”

                “Last offer, little bro.  Let me make the eating easier for your tired little body, or you’re not getting anything.”

                It’s this moment where you realize you have to make a choice.  She’s just thrown the decision at you with very little notice, and she’s making it a limited time offer.  And you make it, for the sharp desire you have to truly live again.

                “OKAY!” you yell out, defeated.  She grins.

                “Good boy.  Sounds like you’re starting to get smarter already.  Here, let me get it ready for your teensy mouth…” she says, opening her jaws fully.  You watch as Carly presses the sandwich in.  More, and more, cramming it in.  You watch in shock as she fills her entire mouth with clean sandwich, a fresh drooble of spit sliding down the top of the remaining sandwich.  With as much of it as she can get in, your sister bites down hard through the squishy interior and pulls the sandwich back.

                Her cheeks puff out hard as she struggles to chew and breathe slightly more heavily with the effort.  You watch as she is forced to open the front of her lips ever so slightly to continue getting air as her powerful jowls grind up the wheaty, mucid batter.  Several dribbles of saliva come pouring out in separate drops like a leaky faucet, plopping to the marble floor right in front of you, and forming a reflective puddle from the lamps above.

                Finally, after a full minute of straight chewing, it ceases.  Carly rears her head forward a little in preparation, then parts her lips slowly like docking gates.  As she does, instantly a waterfall of brown, soupy, pulpy mash with flecks of juicy purple splotches of jelly cascades to the ground, landing with a loud squish right in front of you.  As if to add a cherry on top, as the ball of bread goop lands, a long, thick strand of saliva stays connected to the bread all the way down, thinning as it twirls around in the air, finally cutting off as Carly makes a small spitting sound to break it off from her moist lips.  It plops down comfortably on top of your meal, drizzling fancily over the hill before you like a condiment.

                You stare at it: this thing before you.  You can see bits of shorn crust littered around the mass of white bread, mashed into a ball and infused solid with gallons of your sister’s sluiced slobber.  Dark violet streaks line the edges, where the jelly was sucked down into the bread fibers, reminding you of blood stains.  Dripping masses of the once-thick peanut butter, now softened into a liquid form by Carly’s ultimate solvent, plop with soft plunks down the soft, matted bread ball.  The entire blob of goo and partially digested wheat and jelly mix is about two times larger than you would be if rolled up into a ball.

                “Eat up, little bro, it looks yummy,” says Carly, and she can’t help but snicker a little at you as you walk pitifully forward across the marble counter, toward the ball.  You reach it; the entire tan mound of horrible goop comes up about to stomach level with you.  Now that you’re this close, you can smell it.  The wheaty, oven-baked scent of the soft bread.  The fruity zest of the preserved grape jelly, jiggling delightfully within the wet folds of the mash.  The salty tinge of the liquid peanut butter, pooling underneath the pile.  The slightest trace of Carly’s bad breath from an entire day gone by since her last brushing, like a garbage dump, partially covering the mash in a haze.

                In spite of yourself, your mouth begins to water at the sight and smells coming from this chewed up sandwich bite your sister is forcing you to eat like a baby bird from a mother sparrow.

                Good God, you think.  What the hell am I now?

                What the hell am I, you think again in response.  What I am is hungry as hell, you remind yourself forcefully, and dive forward, digging your hands into it.  Instantly, your fingers push through the warm, gummy pulp; it all feels like a massive pile of oatmeal, stacked up and dried into a slightly harder condition, tough but just soft enough to push through with a little effort.  You dig your hands in deeper, driving them in to the hilt of your shoulders, grabbing on.  You can feel each distinct texture throughout the wonderful smelling mound.  The grainy, fluffy give of the soaked bread.  The cool, drenched dribbles of grape jelly smeared in purple stripes all over the stuff.  The gooey peanut butter, still a bit sticky but running between your fingers from the gooey new form it’s taken from being mixed so thickly in your little sister’s saliva.

                Then, hugging the stuff up to you, the warm, chunky mash sticking to your skin easily, you pick it up in a massive heap like a giant snow ball.  Your face inches from it, you dive in, burying your face and mouth in it, practically inhaling it down your mouth and throat with quick gulps.  You can taste it all the flavors still, the slightly fusty zing from your sister’s smelly mouth included, but you don’t care, eagerly savoring the mushy bread and jelly smears like it was your last meal.

                For all you know, it could be.

                You hug your face in it, engulfing your entire head into the warm, inviting mash, blocking out the soft sounds of the AC off in the distance as your ears go into it, your hair becoming sticky with your sister’s saliva, which pervades every square millimeter of each bite you take in and swallow.  You don’t even bother looking up at Carly, having a pretty good idea of the look of insane condescension and self-indulgence she’s probably giving you.  The pudding-like goop starts to seep a little as you break up an air pocket, releasing a little stream of peanut butter-spit mixture in a waterfall down the front of your body and down your legs to the ground, staining your legs light brown.  You practically just have to suck the delicious liquid goodness in, so viscous is the frothy-bread combo that it flows right down your throat like a drink, the amazing and refreshing flavors spiking your brain impulses again and almost giving you a high as your fast is finally broken.

                Having finally eaten your fill, barely half of the massive load you managed to stick to your upper torso, you release your arms and let the majority of the bite flop to the ground with a little squish of the liquid underneath, some remnants of bread mush caked to your arms and chest still.  You feel revitalized like never before today; you actually feel like you might survive a couple more hours at least, which is comforting to you.  You know it shouldn’t be comforting, but it is.

                Your face, arms, and chest now covered in saliva and bread residue, a dried stream of liquid peanut butter trailing down your legs, you look up at your sister, chewing through the last bite in your mouth.  She’s had her chin resting on her fist thoughtfully this whole time, watching your every move, witnessing it as you eat out of necessity the vile goop she just chewed up and spewed out of her nasty mouth cave, her face locked in a stoic but sure smile.  Finally, without saying a word, her hand shoots out from under her chin.  You watch as it reaches behind you, her fingers forming a flat wall.  They come barreling at you, sweeping you forward to the ground and pushing you along the marble with ease.  An instant later your body is falling face first into the large remaining pile of bile-like peanut butter mush , like leaping into a pile of leaves.  The stickiness coats you, the heat returning to your slightly chilled form.  It actually feels a little bit good, despite the odd gooeyness coating you now.  It’s not like it’s anything new, though, after earlier today.

                You feel Carly’s palm pressing against your ass, mushing you further into the remaining goop.  Then, you feel it shifting underneath you as your sister picks up the entire pile and you, raising it into the air in her cupped hand.  You look forward to see her lips pursed in thought. You look up to see another smooth palm coming down on you, slowly, darkening your gaze as it forms a little hut over your prone form in the remaining mash.  She smushes downward, your sister’s hands forming a “sandwich” out of the PB&J itself and you, crushing the spittle-drenched goo into your very pores as she works it in to your skin.  This goes on for several minutes, your sister kneading you and her massive chewed bite like a Play-Doh ball, wadding it up, until the stuff has leaked thoroughly into your every opening, and is coating you similarly to the cool lavender lotion of earlier today.  This time, though, the stuff coating your body retains heat, like a coat, wrapping you in a soft, juicy layer of tannish backwash.

                After you’ve been thoroughly mixed with her chewed food, Carly releases her hand on top, and grabs you by your left leg with two fingers, plucking you out.  With a quiet squishing sound as the drying membranes of soggy bread crusts break around your limbs, you lift up, mush surrounding you completely and staying stuck, taut to your naked skin.  Carly dangles you upside down like this for a moment, lowering the garbled goop in her other hand back to the counter, where she retrieves the shoe lace.  Without a word, she nods at you and starts walking slowly up to the upstairs area, leaving your naked body to swing in the cold air, pinched by an ankle between her thumb and forefinger, her other hand clutching the shoe lace comfortably.

                Soon, you reach your sister’s bedroom again.  She flicks the light on, then takes a seat on her bed, wrapping the shoe lace back around your body slowly, looping it several times to ensure the knot is tight but not so much that it restricts your breathing.  A few flecks of the food coating around your body are knocked off, but not much else is, so heavily is it stuck to you.

                With your body finally tied back up, your sister walks you over to her closet, opening the door steadily.  Instead of hanging you from a clothing hangar, she instead loops the top of the shoe lace onto a nail on the back wall of her closet, pushing some clothes out of the way.  Your mush-covered body is bumped hard against a thick woolen sweater and the cold metal button of a jean jacket as your sister’s hand swoops you all the way back.  You dangle against the wall helplessly, bumping into it a couple times before setting yourself comfortably in midair.

                You don’t even know what to think right now.  You’re fully aware that your sister just forced you to eat her spit and mushy, pre-chewed food, before molding  a hot mass of it around your body like tar, and yet the feeling of utter fulfillment you got from refilling your stomach is able to overcome this somewhat.  You’re not even thinking too far ahead of what’s going on right now as you bask in the feeling of your stomach taking in the food finally, part of your body’s various current pains washing away.

                “If you have to, um…” says Carly, thinking.  “…GO sometime, just go ahead and go downward.  I’ll clean it up later.  And if you get hungry, eat some of the leftovers off of yourself,” she says calmly and coolly, arching her eyebrows as she explains.  “I’m glad we made some progress today, bro.  I can’t wait to see what you can do when you actually try hard and listen to me like you just did.  Now, good night, little doll,” she says sweetly, the thick sugar in her voice almost giving you goosebumps.  Pulling the clothes over to the side, covering you up behind them, you hear the loud slam of the closet doors, throwing you back into pitch blackness once again.

Chapter 8: Sip of Death by Jacksmith

Your mind descends into that deeper place more than it has in the past day.  Day and a half?  You haven’t the slightest idea of how long you’ve been in here.  At one point, out of sheer, unfettered boredom, you starting counting the seconds, keeping a separate log of the minutes simultaneously to test yourself.  It was something to keep yourself occupied, at least.  You managed to reach three hundred and sixteen minutes and then realized you were going to go crazy if you kept it up any longer.

You actually did try to fall asleep for a while there, and in all honesty it probably worked for at least a little while despite the incredibly difficult-to-sleep-in conditions of hanging from a shoestring (so deep is your total exhaustion), but as soon as you feel yourself make an awkward shift in your precarious dangling position in your sleep, you flip around a little bit and you are jolted awake again.  At first, the sensation is like you’re going to fall, and it’s legitimately terrifying in that short moment when you first wake up somewhere odd and forget where it is you are.

                You collect yourself at that point, and calmly remind yourself that you are shrunken, naked, somewhat bloodied, covered in a bite of food from your sister’s mouth (which has now dried in the cool air and become partially hardened to your body), and hidden from view or sound behind a row of towering flowery teenage girl t-shirts in the pitch black of a clothing closet.

                It is at this point, then, you realize how odd it is to categorize the obtaining of your bearings as “collecting” yourself, when once you remember where you are again, your heart rate begins rising again, delving back into the terrible visions you have playing out of what might happen in the near future.

                You have limited activities to partake in while sitting here.  The first one you tried, counting the minutes, began to climb so quickly you felt you had better stop.  The less you know about the time you’ve been in here, you decide, the better. 

The second one you try is swinging back and forth, just to feel the breeze on your face.  Just to feel something.  You try this, and suddenly remember you’ve got food caked on your face.  Figuring you can spare this much, since you’re actually still pretty full from the massive amount of bread mush you ate at dinner, you dig your fingers into the partially encrusted white mulch of bread and liquid peanut butter, flecking it off your hands into the endless abyss below you.  Now, with your face free, you are able to swing back and forth.  This at least provides a feeling of coolness, and it’s refreshing until your body smacks headlong into the wall you are in such close proximity to.  This sends you spinning in all directions on the shoe lace, your hands clutched painfully to your reeling head.  After brushing this off, you decide to not do that again and just sit.

You wonder if you’re starting to go crazy.  You wouldn’t blame yourself, at any rate.  You doubt anyone would.  It seems unlikely that any human being has been forced to go through what you’ve gone through in the last thirty plus or so hours of your life.  You admit to yourself that there’s certainly been torture, and a great deal of it, in the world throughout time.  Judas’ Cradle.  The Brazen Bull.  Thumbscrew Stabbing.  The Street Sweeper’s Daughter.  Chinese Water Torture.  Though you’ve never experienced any of them, and never want to have to, you are aware of one thing about them.  They exist and have existed for a very long time.  Perhaps deeper, they were PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE.

But this: what has happened to you, your near destruction by your sister in so many mind-numbing, incredible ways, have not only been extraordinarily painful and terrifying in many respects, but when wrapped so heavily in the fact that you have no REAL idea of what’s going on with you inside or what’s happened in a physical and scientific sense, the effect is like a dream.  Much of this time with your evil goddess younger sister has felt like a daydream, a haze, one of those dreams where you’re falling… and falling… and falling.

Except this time, you don’t wake up with a gasp in a cold sweat.  You hit the ground.

Drifting off to sleep once again, you find yourself standing upright, in your home kitchen.  Normal sized.  You leap into the air with pure glee.  It’s over.  It’s all over.  And then you see Carly, standing before you, leaning playfully on the kitchen table.  She points at you and breaks into hysterical laughter.  Rage fills your every fiber.  There she is: the one who’s done all this to you, threatened your life so mercilessly, so nearly brought you into the cold arms of death.  Your little sister.  You rush forth, your hands outstretched.  You take a flying leap into the air, pouncing like a lion.  As you flow through the air, everything around you swirls upward in a liquid-like blow-up effect, and suddenly you’re flying straight for the opened, laughing mouth of your sister.  You fly straight over her lips, past her car-sized white teeth with massive shredded body-sized gunk balls stuck between each tooth and in her molars; her mouth continues to grow as you fly further and further in.  You swim through the air of the muggy mouth cave, and land in the back of her throat with a bone-crunching smack, all of it becoming larger and larger.  You feel yourself shrink to the size of a grain of sand, plummeting down Carly’s slick and slimy throat, wide enough to be a wormhole in space, to burn in her stomach forever.

You suck in air quickly as you wake up from the dream, cold sweat dripping from your neck.

You realign your thoughts somehow, and try to review the facts with yourself.  You’ve reviewed them several times over, but there’s nothing else to do, and as it’s science (your favorite thing), it makes sense to try it again.  You were splashed by the chemicals in the lab.  The ones that weren’t supposed to splash you, that supposedly would have proved caustic in prolonged exposure.  Your teacher washed them off with the emergency hose.  But a drop: a single drop got into your eye, and although your teacher washed your eye as well, you could feel it burning into the back of your eye socket for hours afterward, even after you got a clean bill of health at the hospital.  Then, you were struck by lightning.  This is the only explanation you can come up with, as insane as it is.  The lightning actually ACTIVATED the shrinking.  But something, that something being the chemicals in this case, caused it beforehand in a delayed chain reaction.  It’s the only way.  It has to be.  Absentmindedly, you remember when science used to make perfect sense to you.  Before you were shrunk down to be your sister’s play toy, betrayed by the very fabric of science, your best, intangible friend for so many years, it all used to make so much more sense.

 

Your eye lids close again.  This time, you’re sitting on your bedroom floor.  You look up and realize how gargantuan everything is.  You thought it was gargantuan before, but as you look up, your bed stretches up like the Sears Tower, the ceiling and high shelves so high in the air they are actually blurry; you have to squint to see them, as if looking at a stealth jet flying over the clouds.

Suddenly, you go flying into the air like a popcorn kernel as an earthquake rocks the ground.  You land, but go flying up again into the air and smacking back to the carpet.  You try to grab on, but your hands are far too weak, sending you back up again into the air.  Landing finally, at least several of your bones broken, you whimper, wanting help so much but somehow knowing it won’t come.  Then, you look forward.  Carly’s foot sits in front of you, her big toe stretching up far above your head so that you can’t even see the top.  Her pinky toe rests nearest to you, wiggling slightly, easily larger than a room of your house.  You can see ovular skin cells crossing over one another, the deep chips of her dried toes about as large as your body, the very tip of her nail looking like a stone cliff, hanging slightly downward.  Large globs of mud, actually no larger than dust particles, clinging to her toenail.  You wait.  You look up and see Carly’s face, miles up in the sky, descending toward you.  She crouches, knocking you back several feet in a somersault as she gets near to you, her face so large you can only see part of her mouth, the deep creases of her lips, deep enough that you feel like you could climb in and hide yourself hallway in a fold of your sister’s lip.  They part, and you see her teeth, so white and massive, like landmovers, capable of crunching a building between them.  She breaths, and air so hot that it literally bakes part of your face, covering you in near first degree burns; you clutch yourself in pain, looking upward.

“HELLO, LITTLE BROTHER,” comes the echoing whisper, ripping through your eardrums.  Her mouth curves into a smile, the lakes of saliva grease covering her lips shining and almost blinding you.  “ARE YOU READY TO DIE?  ARE YOU READY FOR YOUR BIG, BIG, BIG SISTER TO END YOUR USELESS LITTLE LIFE?”

“Carly!  No, please!  Listen to me, I’m your brother, I’m a person!”

“NO YOU’RE NOT.  NOT ANYMORE.  LOOK AT YOU, SO SMALL AND HELPLESS DOWN THERE.  I COULD HAVE KILLED YOU WHEN I WALKED IN IF I WANTED TO, BUT I DIDN’T.  KNOW WHY?”

“Why?” you beg.

“BECAUSE I WANTED YOU TO KNOW IT.  I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT YOU’RE ABOUT TO DIE, AND IT WAS ALL BECAUSE OF ME.  YOU CAN DO WHATEVER YOU WANT TO TRY AND STOP IT, BUT IT’S GOING TO HAPPEN.  I’M GOING TO KILL YOU.  WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT?”

“Carly, please, don’t do this!  I… I don’t want to die!  I want to live!  Please, you can’t do this, you have to let me out…” you yell at the top of your lungs.

“I DON’T CARE!” she bellows, popping your ears (she heard you somehow, but after all, you know subconsciously that this is a dream), “YOU ARE A BUG NOW,” she says, but after a second passes, she quickly adds, “NO, YOU’RE NOT EVEN A BUG.  YOU’RE SMALLER THAN A BUG.  YOU’RE A DUST SPECK.  YOU DON’T EXIST ANYMORE.  NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOU ANYMORE AROUND HERE.  THEY’RE GLAD I’M GOING TO KILL YOU.”

“But… but they do care!  I know it!” you say, defeated and crushed all the same.  Her smile widens, and suddenly her head falls away, smacking you down hard to the ground from the wind, her face disappearing up into the stratosphere, her voice just as booming in your ears.  You look forward and see the sheer mass of your sister’s foot, as long as half a dozen city blocks, stretching out so far it seems like her heel is off in the far distance.

“YOUR LIFE DOESN’T BELONG TO YOU.  IT DOESN’T EVEN BELONG TO ME.  IT BELONGS TO MY BIG TOE!” she squeals loudly with delight.

Her building-sized big toe raises into the air, rubbing along the carpet to reach you, sending a ripple through the carpet and smacking you.  You see her toe print, the spaces between each wide enough for you to fit comfortably in between, along with the rows and rows of microscopic grime lines curving all over the deepest crevices of her toe print.  She seems to be getting larger still, towering above you, so large it doesn’t even seem like she’s a living thing anymore.  Soon her big toe is multiple stories high, stretching up forever, the peachy flesh an endless mass of muscle no-doubt strong enough to rip through the world in her toe creases; you have to turn your head all the way to the sides to see the deep, creased wall of evil goddess toe.  It descends, casting dark shadows over you that are so long, it seems you’d have to run for hundreds of meters to escape the doom looming over you.  You cower on the ground.

“SO, LITTLE DUST SPECK BROTHER, DO YOU CARE WHICH TOE I KILL YOU WITH?”

“P-P-Please…”

“BECAUSE I DON’T THINK I’LL EVEN NEED THE WHOLE FOOT.  I COULD PROBABLY INHALE YOU INTO MY NOSE, AND THAT WOULD KILL YOUR WEAK LITTLE BODY. BUT IT’S YOUR CHOICE.  WHICH OF THE TEN DO YOU LIKE THE BEST?” she says, sending a raucous cackle echoing across the space-like room.

“None of them!  P-Please, Carly, remember me?  I’m not a dust speck, I’m just a really, really small person!”

You see her massive, miles long mouth smile at you, so condescendingly, as if she’s watching an animal make goo-goo eyes.  She clearly means everything she says; she doesn’t believe you’re a human anymore.  “SAME THING.  REALLY, REALLY SMALL PEOPLE AREN’T PEOPLE.  THEY’RE JUST DUST SPECKS UNDER MY TOES, LIKE YOU’RE ABOUT TO BE.”

“CARLY!  N-N-Noooo!” you cry out in anguish, spent.  The toe descends slowly.

“YOU DON’T MEAN ANYTHING TO ME ANYMORE, JACK.  I HAVE NOTHING ELSE I CAN USE YOUR BODY FOR, AND THEREFORE YOU ARE NO LONGER NEEDED ON THE EARTH.  NOW, BE A GOOD LITTLE DUST SPECK AND BECOME PART OF MY FOOT!” she roars so loud it finally deafens you completely and causes blood to gush from your ears; the toe descends on you, your body popping the instant it makes contact, your microscopic guts soaking into the yards-thick toe flesh of your sister like a molecule of water, unneeded and forgotten forever.

 

You awake again, panting hard, still hanging from the string.  Trying to calm your heart rate, you reflect on the dream while you can still remember it.  The godlike, world-destroying size of your sister.  The things she said to you prior to your untimely demise under her California-sized ped.  You note how odd some of her statements were, so inhuman and uncharacteristic of her normal, more subtle artwork in humiliating you.  You know that if she really did do something like in your dream, she wouldn’t proclaim it so simply as if speaking her mind.  She’d just let you stew in a few snide comments.  However, it occurs to you that this dream must have been a manifestation of your fears of what Carly is really thinking about you as she holds your powerless life in her hands.  You know perfectly well that she wouldn’t need to grow to the size of Canada to feel these things.  You’re already seeing hints of them in her treatment of you.  Last night, she let you sleep in a cup by her bed.  Not comfy, but it was something, and you could see things around you.  Tonight, or whatever the hell the time is, you’re dangling upside down in her closet like a medieval enemy of the state, tortured even in your useless attempts at a calm sleep.

With this new realization born in your mind, two things occur to you almost simultaneously.  The first thing is that you have got to get out of here, somehow, somewhere.  You know it has to be possible, you have a shoe lace, a wall, and clothes with stitching and wool deep enough on some that they could be like rope ladders.

The second thing that occurs to you is how thirsty you are.  Your throat is so dry, it pains you to breathe.  You hadn’t noticed it before, but now that you think about it, the salt of the peanut butter must have accelerated the process of your thirst.  You think.  The last time you had pure water was Friday night.  You made it all the way through Saturday, and received SOME water in the form of food.  You’re assuming it’s partway through the night now into Sunday morning, but then again, you’re not sure.  Maybe it’s morning already.  Maybe it’s night already.  Maybe the day is over.  Maybe it’s the middle of god damned December 21, 2012 and the world is about to be blown sky high.

Whatever the time of day is, you know that, combined with the salty peanut butter mash you ate and the intense, sweaty workout equivalents you faced the previous day, you need water, and you need it desperately.  You had been so focused on eating, you literally had forgotten to be thirsty.  And for the first time in quite a good many hours, you laugh, not because it’s funny, but at the sheer, unbelievable level of pathetic you’ve reached.  Wheezing, it occurs to you that you might die of dehydration sooner rather than later, when one considers how tired and beat up you are.  You wonder if the nightmares you keep experiencing have anything to do with it.  Regardless, it’s time to move out.

You begin scratching off the food bits surrounding you in encrusted chunks.  You’ll need your full range of motion to be able to operate.  With the last little handful, you shove it into your mouth, knowing you most likely won’t be fed for a while now.  Swallowing the now-crusty and somewhat moldy tasting bread mush down, you grab onto the shoe lace tightly and begin to swing.  You’ve sort of forgotten which direction the wall is in, but once you’ve gone in circles a few times, you find it with your feet, lightly enough so that it doesn’t hurt.  This is the hard part.

Now, needing your weightlifting skills more than ever, you climb hand over hand, upward, scaling the plaster wall by pulling your body weight up the shoe lace along the wall for support.  Finally, your arms beginning to feel the strain, you reach your hand out and find the cold, ashy touch of the nail.  You grip it hard, then do a pull-up, yanking yourself onto it.  In the pitch blackness, you have to clasp your hands around it tightly to remind yourself where to put your sense of balance.  You’ve done this before as well, having to stand on a beam with your eyes closed to improve your balance.  It’s just a workout, you tell yourself.  Just a workout.

You twist your legs around the nail like a monkey, clenching so hard your knees begin to go numb but you also know you won’t slip off as long as you keep yourself level.  Slowly and calmly lowering your hands, you feel the soft threads of Carly’s shoe lace and slide your fingers into the knot, deciphering what kind it is.  You have limited Boy Scout knowledge, but you do actually know a couple of knots, and this happens to be a pretty simple one, as Carly’s not exactly an aficionado of such things.  With gentle, controlled tugs guided by memory of the knock type more than sight, so as not to knock yourself off of the thing, you untie the nail, holding the other end of the string in one hand.  At this point, if you fall, you have no bungee cord to catch you, it’s just a seven or eight story plummet into the pitch blackness, give or take a story.

Next comes the damned tricky part.  You tie a quick, small loop about as large as your head into the newly freed end of the lace.  You try to recall what you saw, what you touched on your way into the closet.  The jean jacket.  The button.  You remember that much.  Re-clenching your legs around the nail, you toss out the plastic tipped end of the string that’s not currently tied around you.  You feel it fall downward into the darkness.  Reeling it back in, you try again, tossing it out into No Man’s Land.  Bringing it back, this time you really try to concentrate.  Where was it?  How far from the nail was it?  What level was it at, roughly, with the nail?  You focus, relieving the scene as Carly hung you inside her closet however long ago.  A rough image comes to you.  Taking a deep breath, you plunge the loop through the abyss of darkness.  This time it doesn’t fall.  It goes taut.  You tug at it excitedly, not too hard, but enough to see if it actually did catch the button.  You say a little prayer of thanks for your luck, followed by a little prayer of begging for a safe journey as you release your legs from the nail, swinging outward in a low arc into the darkness of the closet.  Your head smashes into a thick material, feeling rather rough, with creases line it in all direction.  You stop bouncing, coming to a stop.  You feel it.  Denim.  Success.

Now, having to actually improvise your plan, since your master grand scheme only had you making it this far, you think hard, trying not to swing too hard on the button.  Your arms beginning to feel the burn, you grab onto the lace again, clambering upward, straining yourself a bit but pushing past it as a new layer of cold sweat rushes down you.  After climbing perhaps two body lengths, you feel something jutting out from the jean jacket in a bulge.  You push against it.  A pocket.  Deciding that you need some inspiration for what to do next, you feel for the denim edge, then pull yourself up to it and dive inside the pocket.

You land on a cushy, fabric bed.  Your fingers fish through it, finding folds and little lint bits; it’s a tissue.  And it’s then that you get perhaps the most insane idea to ever cross your cursed mind during your lifetime.  You find the corners of the tissue, curling them inward and tying them in knots around your ankles, and then your wrists, creating a cape of white behind you.  You dry swallow a few times, your body starting to feel weak.  The energy expenditure needed to climb that shoe lace has taken its toll, and now that you have a second to catch your breath, you begin feeling sharp pains in your side.

It occurs to you that you might kill yourself just trying to find water in your state of supreme dehydration; you’re burning calories and sweating droplets that you really don’t have to give.  You move your arm out, and suddenly it’s shaking, getting weaker.  You know you have to act now.  Unruffling your makeshift parachute, you yank the fabric fold of the pocket back down so that it’s low enough for you to climb out of.  Taking a deep breath and wondering absentmindedly if this is going to work or not, you jump.  The wind hits your face, smacking you back upward for a second as you fall.  You stretch your arms out, and the parachute begins to catch wind.  You know it’s not enough, but as your arms are stretched, already they’re straining against the pull of the wind to go backward.  But you push outward, perfectly straight, your body taut.  It’s now or never.  Sink or swim.

With a dry croak of pain in your muscles, you feel your limbs give out on you a millisecond before you make your landing.  Incredibly, it was slow and graceful enough that you didn’t die in the landing, although you definitely don’t feel good, especially since you fell flat on your shredded chest.  You roll over uselessly from under the tissue parachute, the ties coming undone easily, as they were loosened in the short fall anyway.  You try to push yourself up, but feel a searing pain in your arms.  Standing up will be impossible, and when you try the same tactic with your lower limbs, the same effect happens.  Your throat, so dry and dusty and in need of water, stings just as badly as your foot ball-molested chest felt as it was scraped bloody.  You don’t even want to breathe, it hurts so much.  Your head swells a bit, swimming in the pain and little emotions now filling your head.  You’re dying.

NO.  YOU’RE NOT DYING.  You press your fingers into the carpet knots and inch forward, using your slightly less exhausted upper torso muscles to do the main heavy lifting, dragging your limbs at your side.  You move along, slowly and eventually you see the thin trail of brighter light than inside the closet from under the door, just in front of you.  You crawl toward it, lowering your head against the carpet as you crawl forward, feeling the wooden frame of the door brush up against your entire back at once as you slide underneath, a fresh wave of cool air washing over you as you enter the humongous hall of Carly’s room.  You look up, weakly.  You can’t see anything, save for the faint outline of Carly’s bed.  Over by the window, you see the shades pulled taught, a set of blankets Carly taped over the bottom section to keep out any light forcing you to guess at what time it really is.  Not that you care at this moment what time it is.

You crawl forward using mostly your stomach and shoulders, like an inchworm, pain scraping through your limbs after the beating you just gave them to escape despite their extreme tiredness.  Even though you just resolved not to give up, the same idea starts coming back to your brain.  You don’t want to die.  You have no intention of dying.  You may even be a little bit afraid to die in such a painful manner as lack of water and overheating.  But none of those things can stop the fact that if you don’t get water in what you would guess to be the next half an hour or less, you’re going to fall asleep.  And there’s a low likelihood that you’re going to wake up again.

Your brain has already begun to accept it, starting to shut down major functions like motivation.  You crawl forward and feel yourself wondering why you keep doing this, after all you’ve been through. What would be such a big deal about just ending it and ceasing Carly’s cruel games of life and death?

You come to rest after bumping into something.  You touch it.  You feel pretty dizzy, but it feels rubbery, but rough at the same time, speckled with harder little spots.  It has ridges as well.  And then, it hits you.  The smell.  It isn’t just a smell wafting through the air.  It’s pungent.  It’s salty.  And it is absolutely filling the air around it in a haze of awful musk.  It’s Carly’s newly used basketball shoes, with her utterly saturated socks sitting in them and hanging over the edge of the shoe, just barely above your head.  You reach up and touch the edge of the sock.  Even the mouth of the sock is soaked. 

And at that moment, you realize what has to be done to survive. 

You squeeze as hard as you can on edge of the sock.  A small fountain of sweat falls to your dry lips.  A full drop lands in your mouth.  You swallow hard.  It’s horrible, just as mind-crushingly bitter and painful to your taste buds as when you had to lick Carly’s actual foot.  Perhaps it’s even worse this time, as before, you at least had the odd but distracting taste of your sister’s foot skin mixed in.  Now, though, the single sensation flooding your senses is the feeling of her salty, stinging, grimy sweat soaking through your body.  You want to start retching and get it out of your system.  But you don’t.  At this point, you feel full control of your gag reflex.  Your body is going to take whatever it can get.  You lick your lips, then reach up and squeeze with both hands.  A shower of sweat falls to your face.  And you lap up every drop of it from your face. 

When that section runs out, you move to a different spot on the rim, inching your back horizontally along the carpet so you can reach it.  You try to think your way through it, as always.  You know that sweat has some minerals, and even lactate, but it’s mostly water; I’m getting water, you tell yourself.  I’m going to live if I just can keep it down.  You almost felt yourself laughing and crying at your predicament at the same time.  Your life is being saved by the perspiration left on the gargantuan socks of your twisted little sister, who ironically has on multiple occasions brought you near death with her feet before now.  Once you make it impossible to squeeze more sweat out of the rim of the sock, you feel some strength returning.  Hanging on to the still somewhat damp sock rim, you pull yourself up and stand, still hanging on, woozy.  Using the threads like a step ladder, you climb into the opening of the sock, ignoring the pain in your limbs.  If the odor was strong a minute ago, it’s downright enslaving now.  Every breath you take in, your lungs are filled with the bitter, overwhelming stench of Carly’s overworked soles, heels, and toes, her foot essentially raping you with each breath just from what it’s left here.  You might as well be swimming underwater in a cup filled to the brim with her sweat.  The processes it had taken to get here, water she had drunk that had soaked into her system, going through her sweat glands, picking up minerals and salts from inside her body, then going to her skin, leaking out her pores like toxic chemicals from a factory as she bounded hard across the basketball court for a good two hours or more.

You retch deeply a few times as you crawl deeper up the tube, consumed in a never-ending wave of your sister’s foul stench.  When you reach the spot where the sock is at the top of the shoe’s edge, you let go, and tumble head over heels into the gym shoe.  It’s like landing on a soaked sponge the size of a mattress; every surface of your body facing the ground is damp, soaked almost right through your entire body.  And God help you, you begin to suck hungrily on the walls of the sock.  The sour tang of the sweat is being fought every step of the way by your senses, and yet you must continue.  You force yourself to continue. 

Then, as you grab hold of each corner of the saturated sock in your teeth, sucking it as dry as you possibly can, the taste and smell changes.  In the beginning, it’s the familiar god-awfully acrid and foul sting to your mouth, as is the accompanying stench surrounding and engulfing you (the difference being here that this sweat happens to have been rotting in this sock for a certain amount of time, becoming very musty and bacteria-laden).  By the time you’re finished with about a third of the sock, though, it’s different.  The taste is becoming sweeter.  It has a salty tang, a tang that goes from repulsive to almost comforting, and with each mouthful of liquid you crave more of the savory feeling in your throat, revitalizing you.  You grimace, supposing this is what happens on a desert island to the average citizen who is forced to eat bugs and feces to survive.  They become accustomed to it and eventually it’s all they know, so they come to like it.  Well, as you realize, you’ve undergone an accelerated process.

You don’t know how long you’ve been in here.  Your skin, already damp from your own sweat, became soaked just from crawling around the saturated sock of your sister.  By the time you’ve gone through most of the reachable sweat easy enough to squeeze out, you’re essentially rolling in the stuff.  You hug the saturated sock to your body and suck away on it.  Not only is your thirst entirely quenched and your strength returning, but as a bonus, all of Carly’s foot execration is cool, allowing your overheated body to regulate.  You close your eyes, realizing how ironic it is that, albeit inadvertently, your crazy and controlling “little” sister has finally saved your life after nearly taking it on multiple occasions in so little time.

 

You realize you’ve fallen asleep in your sister’s smelly, used sock and gym shoe, because the next thing you know, you’re opening your eyes as light streams into the shoe, gravity shifting underneath you.  You crawl forward and look out the mouth of the shoe, to see Carly’s long fingers pinching the back of the shoe, holding it in the air, looking at you.  Her jaw is dropped.

“J-Jack…” she starts to say, patting the inside of the sock, now mostly dry, with a fingertip.  “You… you got… how-wha…” she begins, continuing to trace the inside of the sock with her finger, comprehending what’s going on.  “You… you didn’t actually… you…” she says, her face twisting up in disgust as it sinks in what you did in this little shoe cave.  “Oh my GOD,” she squeals in utter contempt, covering her mouth with her other hand not holding the shoe.  You can’t blame her; if you were looking at a little gnome person in one of your shoes who’d just drunk gallons of your foot sweat, you’d be a little weirded out too.  The important thing now, you think to yourself, not even bothering to be upset that you were found in your escape attempt, is that you’re alive.

For now.

Chapter 9: Anatomy Lesson by Jacksmith

You feel a strange calm as your sister clutches you in her hands once again, carrying you downstairs.  You’re not even really terribly broken up about being caught before you could even escape the room, especially after the perfect execution of your escape attempt.  You’re pretty sure it has something to do with the fact that once again, you narrowly escaped the jaws of death through some of the most humiliating circumstances you could ever have conceived for your life.  But at least you still HAVE your life.  And after the price you just paid to keep it, you intend not to lose it prematurely.

                “I hope we learned a little lesson today, hmm?” says Carly, cupping you in her palms as she sits at the barstool again with you, pulling you from your deeper thoughts.  “If you try and get out of what your big sissy tries to teach you, bad things happen.  And that’s why you had to do what you did to my socks…” she says, and although she doesn’t show it, you detect the pure glee she has at the idea of you being forced to do what you did, after the initial shock value wore off for her.

                “So let’s try and remember what happened today.  Do what I say, and it will be okay.  Don’t do what I say, and you might get hurt.  Did you get hurt today?”

                You nod.

                “And what did you have to do to not be hurt anymore?”

                “Get water.”

                She nods.  “How did you get water?” she says quizzically, obviously knowing the answer.  This is clearly so she can hear you say the words and force you to relive it in your mind.

                “I… got to your socks.”

                “That’s right.  What about my socks.  What were they like?”

                “Sweaty.”

                “How sweaty?”

                “Really sweaty.”

                She raises her eyebrows in approval of your answer, as if speaking to a first grader.  “That’s right.  Know why?  Because I was playing basketball for two and a half hours at practice.      So what did you do?”

                “I got the sweat out.”

                “How?”

                “I sucked on your socks.”

                “And what did you do with the sweat?”

                “I drank it,” you answer, giving each answer in a calm and collected manner, still wary of what could happen, but at the same time still feeling like you’re living on “bonus” life, as you really ought to have died, by all accounts of reality, on the floor in Carly’s room.  Mentally, you thank the dead creator of basketball, whoever it was.

                “You drank it, that’s right.”

                “Yeah.”

                “I’ll bet that wasn’t very much fun.  Was it?”

                “No.”

“And I think we both know you don’t like how my feet taste.  Well, I mean…” she says, looking quickly down at her legs and feet.  “…DO you like the way they taste?” she says slyly.

                You nod quickly no, ironically noting to yourself that, yes, in fact, when you were dying and rehydrating, it did sort of taste good.  Better than death, anyway.

                “Are you sure?  Because you can try them again if you want.  I mean, sometimes things you don’t like the taste of taste better when you try them again with a more open mind,” she says coolly, suggesting the idea of repeated events.  You nod no again.

                “No?  Well, we’ll have to see about that, later…” she says, clearly meaning she’s not shelving the idea of forcing you to repeat Saturday’s worship session again.  “I think you’ve got the taste of my foot in your mouth PLENTY enough for today,” she says with a smile, giving you a little squeeze.  “We’ll save some for later.”

                “Carly… what day is today?” you say.

                “Monday.”

                You groan to yourself.  No wonder you were so near death.  “What time?”

                “About 5, silly little bro.  Why do you think I’m back from practice?”

                “Where… what…”

                She smirks, knowing you’re wondering how this all went off.  “Well, sorry bro, I know you didn’t like it in there in thedark, but the reason I had to put you in my closet was so mom and dad wouldn’t find you there.”

                “They’re back?”

                She gives you a ridiculous grin.  “Yes, dummy, of course they’re back; they came back last night.”

                “Oh.”

                “You should pay a little more attention,” she says.

                “So, where are…”

                “God, you really don’t know how to think straight today, do you, little bro?  They’re out with the police, looking for you.  That was the other reason I couldn’t have you out yesterday to teach, they were all over the place, looking around your room.”

                “What do they think…”

                “What do they think you did?  Well, I think they think you just ran away.  That was what I told them, anyway,” she says, shrugging.  It frightens you how easy and small a thing it was in the mind of Carly to lie blatantly to the cops and your parents.  But being the master manipulator and liar she is, you know that it couldn’t have been too difficult for her.  She played them all like puppets on strings.  You should have known this would be too easy.

                On the other hand, you are able to note, with some happiness, that Carly didn’t try and “get rid” of you before your parents returned.  You’ve lived to fight another day, depending on what kind of fight Carly forces you into today.  Not that it rules it out; if the pressure gets to be too much hiding you, you may end up killed anyway, except you’d first get to experience a few more torture sessions before Carly realized that your existence was too much of a burden on her.  You think hard in this way as Carly’s fingers release you into a standing position on the island counter.

“Do you know how dorky you look standing there with no clothes on and your face looking like that?  You look like you’re trying to poop or something,” she says, unable to contain her laughter.  She chuckles heartily, slapping a huge hand onto the counter and sending a shockwave through to your feet.  Her mention of your nakedness again causes you to take a step back.  She’s obviously still basking in the glorious humiliation of this for you, and even if you’re over your own exposure, she doesn’t seem to be.

                “Oh, c’mon, you silly little boy, I was just kidding,” she says, placing the hand back on the counter and drumming her fingers in a ripple pattern.  “Hey, I’ve given you a bath already and I WASHED your PRIVATE parts for you!  Are you seriously going to tell me you’re still embarrassed?  Believe me, I know what all of you looks AND feels like now.  You don’t have to keep being such a whiny baby about it,” she adds, arching her eyebrows in expectancy.  She goes into a slight crouching position, getting eye level with you, staring ahead and puckering her huge lips in thought.

                “I mean, I’ve never actually SEEN one before yours…” she says, her eyes moving down from your own eyes and to your crotch.  You suddenly feel like you’re standing on an opera stage with your underwear on.

                “Um… well…” you gulp, putting on a smile.  This is extraordinarily embarrassing, but her tone of voice seems to have reverted to the alternate, slightly less lethal playful version.  She may still do something drastic, but at this point, keeping her in this mood at all costs is vital. You decide to actually answer, despite your extreme fatigue.  “… that’s probably a good thing then at your age.”

                “Not a REAL one, anyway,” she says, leaning her head a little closer to you.  You feel yourself take another small step backward in response.  “In health class we had to watch that stupid video about them. Did you have to watch that one, little bro?” she asks, her eyes thankfully returning to your own.  You nod.

                “Umm, I think so…”

                “But in THAT…” she says, giving a single giggle, “… they show you that weird computer guy who spins around.  I always thought that was kind of stupid.  They do the same for the girl.  Why do they use computer people?” she says thoughtfully.

                “Um… maybe some people just don’t think it’s appropriate to show to kids…” you say tentatively.  “I mean, it IS private parts.”

                She tilts her head to the side.  “Well, YEAH, I know that, I’m not a dummy.  But I mean, if they want us to learn about it, why don’t they just show us a real one?” she says, and her eyes fall back to your dick.  God, why is she acting like this?

                “Well, then they’d probably be breaking some kind of school ordinance…” you answer calmly.

                “Like, today at school Elaine says she’s seen two before.  And she said they were so hot…”

                “Umm…” you answer, not sure you want to contribute to this conversation any more.

                “But I don’t know what it is with her and boy thingies.  It sure doesn’t LOOK hot, it looks kinda weird,” she says, arching an eyebrow while still staring at your crotch.

                It makes you somewhat uncomfortable that your younger sister just analyzed the appearance of your dick, but you suppose that, with the casual offhandedness with which she said it, she’s not taking it too seriously.

                “Okay…” you say uncertainly.  She snorts quickly in the beginning of a laugh.

                “Well, don’t take it personally, little bro, I’m just saying…”

                “I get it,” you answer curtly, clearing your throat.  You watch suspiciously as your sister’s flat hand and splayed fingers slide forward across the countertop with a smooth swishing sound, her soft palm flesh rubbing against the plastic as it crawls closer to you.  Her hand rises into a fist, right in front of you, and she extends her pointer finger and thumb, curling towards you.

                “Can I feel it again?” she asks politely but casually.

                “Umm…” you say, crinkling your face up at her in confusion, taking a slow step backward, as if taking a step back would prevent your sister being able to reach you if she wanted.

                “Don’t be stupid, little bro, I’m not trying to hurt you.  I just want to try something.”

                Now this is really not going well.  You swallow hard, starting to get nervous.  Carly’s two fingers, set back a few seconds by your initial refusal, rub against each other in a swaying motion as if she had something sticky between them and was trying to scrape it off.

                “What… do… you want to try?” you say uncertainly, gulping again, really, really not liking where this is starting to go.  She tilts her head at you in that playful, mocking way.

                “Well, it’s just when I was talking to Elaine still, about boy thingies.  She said that when people…” she said, looking a momentarily frazzled as she mulled over the operative word in her mind, “…try and make babies together, the boy’s thingy doesn’t just… I don’t know, do whatever.  It starts out all little, but she said it gets bigger, like a balloon.  I thought that was kind of weird, but I also kind of thought I wanted to see one…”

                “Umm…” you say, your heart racing faster.  Good Lord, Carly can’t possibly mean she’s going to…

                “And then I thought, I’ve got my own little naked boy at home.  I can look at one if I want.  Actually…” she says, chuckling, “…I can touch it too, if I want.”

                “Errr…” you say, with no real response to that zinger.

“Is it true?  Does it really blow up like a balloon, like she said?”

                “I…”

                “Walk back over here, little bro.”

                “Huh?”

                “I think you have a hearing problem there.  March back over here, in front of my hand,” she says confidently, rubbing her fingers together a little faster now, creating a slight vibrating noise as her fingerprints grind together, a sound you would really only hear at this size.

                “Listen, Carly… I mean, it’s kind of like that, but it’s really not anything big like she tried to make it sound…” you say, attempting to hide the rising terror in your mind.

                “She also said to make it do that, all you have to do is touch it.  Like you just have to tap at it a few times, and it just does it.  By itself.”

                “That’s not exactly how it works…” you protest, lying a bit, knowing how trapped you are right now.

                “Okay, whatever, look: I want to see it.  Come here.”

                “Carly, seriously, I mean… it’s BORING, honestly.  Really, we could stand here, and I could show you, and you’d just realize it was kind of a waste of time.  I mean… I thought we were learning… lessons…” you say with a pained sputter.  You dread having to face more lessons of course, but at this moment, it’s anything to avoid what Carly is suggesting.  “Shouldn’t we get back to that?”

                Carly grimaces at you, as if you said something stupid.  “We are.”

                “We are?”

                She nods.  “Yep.  You have to learn this now.  You may not have admitted it like I told you to, but I still know you belong to me.  You have to do whatever I say you have to, and what I’m saying right now to you is walk up to my hand.  Got that?”

                “But CARLY!”

                “NOW.  Or I grab you up and dangle you by your…” she says, giggling.  “…little thingie.”

                That last idea gets your feet moving.  There’s nothing so terrible your sister can threaten that doesn’t suddenly become the best option for you when something even worse is suggested as a punishment for failure to act.  You walk up, stopping close enough to touch Carly’s balled up fist, her extended fingers about at face level with you.  They part, and her fingers extend downward.

                “Carly, really, we don’t have to do this… it’ll be boring and…”

                “Jack, just be quiet right now and hold still, or I’ll pick you up by it like I said I would.  And don’t think I won’t do it.  I just want to see if it’s true…” says Carly, and suddenly she has her thumb and pointer finger wrapped around your dick, smushing it tightly between her two large, muscular flesh pads.

                You grunt at first, blowing out air as the pain of getting punched in the crotch shoots up through you.  Instantly, the fingers loosen.

                “Sorry, Jack, I wasn’t sure how hard I had to touch it.  I guess not that much…” she says, and then her fingers are swallowing up your genitals again, this time much more gently.  And then they begin to move.  Just like in the shower, except less casual.  This time, her fingers, while still being gentle, begin working at your dick, gliding back and forth, fitting your crotch comfortably into the deeper creases of her finger joints, back and forth.  Like a ticking clock.

                You feel yourself starting to react almost immediately.  You try to think.  You have to stop it.  Dead puppies.  Dead puppies.  Dead puppies.  Dead seals.  Sewage.  Bloody, blown apart bodies.  Death.  Blood.  Gore.  Anything.

                It’s not working, it’s still happening.  After roughly thirty seconds of rhythmic rubbing at your dick, you can feel it starting to enlarge, against your will.

                For God’s sake, you think to yourself, embarrassment swelling into you almost as much as your genitals are swelling around now as the two masses of finger flesh gently caress them.  Carly is about to make me climax, right into her fingers.  I’m literally getting raped by two of my sister’s fingers, you think.

                It occurs to you the fact that, at this stage in your life, you no longer being a child and in fact being (until now) a tall, reasonably strong guy, you had assumed your chances of getting sexually assaulted or, heaven forbid, raped were about as close to zero as possible.

                That theory is currently being disproved in every way as your gigantic little sister’s fingers calmly stroke back and forth across your dick purely for her personal amusement and curiosity, sending goose bumps up your arms, a warm feeling into your brain at the insane pleasure it’s bringing you.

                “Wow… it’s actually… kind of like a balloon.  A balloon with a rock in it, I guess…” says Carly questioningly, clearly still a little confused.  You don’t even want to think about how many ways this is so wrong.  Your sister, whom you obviously have no actual inclination toward of any kind (the very inkling of such a thing hurts your brain and makes you want to vomit), is about to cause a second climax into her hand because she decided to spend just a little too much time poking those long, meaty fingers into your lower regions, just because she could.  Except this time, she’s directly observing the result, doing it on purpose.  Raping you without meaning to: just because it’s something interesting to touch and poke.

                Your body convulses hard as you reach maximum, and spurts out your climax.  Shocked by the strength of it, you fall onto your back, the lingering endorphins swelling through your mind and warming you, helping ease the soreness you still feel all over.  But some of that subsides when you look down, see your still fully lengthened dick, and remember that you were just forced to jack off right into your sister’s two fingers.  You look up at her face.

                Carly has her hand now up at her face, her two fingers close to her eyes.  “What IS that?” she says, and you know precisely what she has on her fingers.  You know it can’t be much at this size.  “Was that… supposed to happen?” she says, looking a little fearful.  “Did that hurt or something?  Why are you on the ground?”

                “I… don’t know…” you say sheepishly as you stand up.

                “Elaine said that was supposed to make you feel happy or something.  I figured you would want to feel happy, I was guessing you still were hurting from back there in my room and stuff…”

                “Um… yeah, sure, yeah, I feel great…” you lie, knowing full well that your mental state is all but in shambles after the last few minutes.  You feel a little hollow.  You, sickeningly, now have a very full appreciation of what it’s like for the majority of rape victims.  And it happened right in your house, with just two of the digits of your younger and obviously completely sexually oblivious sister.  You suppose it’s good that she’s not too educated on that stuff yet, but it doesn’t make the distinct feeling of emptiness in your mind go away.

                Carly wrinkles her nose, calmly wiping her two fingers on her short shorts below the countertop.  “You were right, little bro.  That was kind of boring.  C’mon, let’s do something else together…” she says, and suddenly she has you back in her soft fist, your still lengthy member pressed almost painfully into a deep finger crevice fold, a memory of the violation just wrecked over your body.

Chapter 10: Tongue Twister by Jacksmith

You lie limply between your sister’s palm and fingers, noting how quickly she was able to ruin your mood.  You came out of her sweaty shoe, disgusted but with a sense of confidence in your ability to move forward despite the odds.  However, in a single two minutes of all but sexually assaulting you with her fingers, you almost feel like you don’t want to care anymore, so deep was the emotional blow to you and your feeling as a person.

                Carly stops in her tracks, looking down at you, crumpled up and just letting gravity do its work on you inside her hand.  “What’s the matter, little bro?”

                “Nothing…” you say simply.

                “No, really, tell me; what’s the problem?”

                “I guess that that was just…”

                “I thought you said it didn’t hurt?” says Carly, still a bit confused.

                “I know, and it didn’t, but…”

                “Well, didn’t it feel good, then?  I mean, I thought it was supposed to make you feel good,” says Carly logically.  Sadly, you realize that this is one of those brief interludes where Carly is actually kind enough to try and let you get your bearings by doing something she views as nice to you before unleashing her next wave or wrath.  “Didn’t it, little bro?  Feel good?”

                You don’t even want to answer, knowing the mechanics of your current thoughts on the matter are just a bit above Carly’s comprehension.  “It kind of did…”

                “Elaine says it’s supposed to make you feel REALLY good.  Like, you’re supposed to want to yell because you’re so happy or something.”

                “Sometimes, sometimes, it’s just that…”

                “Want to do it again?” says Carly, a smile stretching over her lips.  She opens you up into a cupped hand and instantly the two fingers from her other hand on descending on you.  You don’t even have a second to react as her fingers fold gently around your dick once again.  You quickly twist your legs around her fingers, trying to push them away, but this is useless.

                “What are you doing, little bro?” says Carly, beginning to knead at your crotch anew.  “Your little legs tickle.”

                “Carly, please, once was enough, I’m okay.”

                “Are you sure?” she says, continuing the motion as your legs struggle fruitlessly to block her.  Already, you’re beginning to react again.  Mentally, you note how freakishly quickly your teenaged mind allowed you to get going on a fresh one.

                “Yeah, I’m sure.”

                “I’m just trying to make you feel better, little bro.  I thought you were hurting,” she says, sounding mildly offended, exactly what you don’t want.

                “I know you are, Carly, and that’s nice of you, but you really don’t have to.”

                “But I want to.  It’s kind of funny to watch,” she says, grinning slightly.  Of course it is.

                “I know it is, but the thing is, after you do it once, it… doesn’t feel good anymore,” you lie a little, wondering if this new statement will have the desired effect.  Carly tilts her head at you, disbelieving.

                “Really?”

                “Yeah, really.”

                “That’s not what Elaine said…”

                “Well, I mean, Elaine’s a girl, you know, she doesn’t have one of these.  I’m a person who does, I know what it feels like.”

                “So what you’re telling me is…” says Carly, her fingers slowing down on the grinding on your dick with her fingertips.  “…this hurts you?”

                “It’s not bad.  It just doesn’t feel as good anymore.”

                “When does it feel good again?”

                “Errr…” you say, unsure of how to answer that.  “You have to wait a little while.”

                She nods, seemingly satisfied, removing her fingers from your body.  “Okay, little bro.  We’ll wait.”

                “That’s… that’s okay, really.”

                This time, you get a stern almost-glare.  “Jack, are we forgetting who’s in charge around here?”

                “No…” you’re quick to respond.  She nods, recurling her opened palm up into a cool, soft fist around you.

                “You’re mine, remember?  If I want to do that to your thingie because I know it makes you feel good and it will help you do better on your lessons later, then I’m going to do it.  Right?”

                “Umm…”

                “You need to learn to take a joke a little better…” she says, shaking her head, a slight gleam in her eye worrying you ever so slightly.  Finally stopping, your sister takes a seat on a huge, cushy armchair in the main living room, propping her elbow of the arm of the chair, holding you up so she can get you at face level.  “You know, bro, just while we’ve been talking, I’ve been wondering…”

                “Wondering what?”

                “Whether I’ll really be able to keep you hidden…”

                Can she mean it?  Is she going to give in?

                “Please, Carly, it’s okay; you can give me back so they can help me.  I won’t tell on you ever, I promise.”

                “You really promise?”

                “Yes!” you lie through your teeth.

                She nods.  “I don’t know about that.  See, I know that even if you’ve learned your lessons now, if you become big again you might realize that you can get me back, and then you’ll be mean again.”

                “That won’t happen!”

                “I know it won’t little bro.  Because I’m starting to wonder if I should just get rid of you…”

                The feeling of cold again.  This is the feeling you’ve experienced several times, sadly, in the last couple of days.  It began with you sitting in your sister’s cereal and milk spoon.  It came next hanging off her belly button.  It came next eagerly awaiting the chewed up spittle of your sister for dinner.  It came next crawling through the deadly darkness of the closet for water.  And now it’s flooding you again as Carly freely admits once again that she doesn’t have a problem getting rid of you.  Except it makes sense this time.  It’s not like her earlier attempts, where it was implausible that she would get rid of you just for the lesson.  She has a reason: some motivation now.  Everything she’s just said is perfectly correct, and sickeningly, you realize she’s doing the somewhat logical thing to do given how far she’s forced you to go into her deep fantasy world.

                “Carly!  You-you can’t!  I mean, I’m…”

                “You’re just a little doll boy now, Jack.  There’s not much left of you.”

                It’s almost as if the more realistic version of your terrible nightmare is coming true as your gigantic sister speaks to you so callously about the possible end of your life.

                “I’m… I’m… not a doll!” you say, almost too scared right now to hide the feeling of hurt in your voice.  Carly smiles.

                “Don’t be silly, of course you are.  Look at yourself.  You can move, but you can’t do anything.  I decide everything that happens to you.  If I wanted to put clothes on you, I would.  But I don’t want to, so you’re not wearing clothes,” she says simply, presenting a rather obvious idea.

                “B-But… I’m…”

                “I mean…” she says, rolling her neck around in a stretch.  “…I really can do whatever I want to you.  If I want to get rid of you, I can, and you can’t do anything about it.”

                Your heart rate begins to rise again.  You’re running out of time very quickly.

                “Carly!  Listen to me, please, I…”

                “Shhhh…” she hushes, places a fingertip right over your mouth, covering most of you face.  “Just be quiet now, Jack.  Don’t talk anymore.”

                You start to shiver.  Is this really going to happen now?  After all you’ve been through?  You watch, unable to speak, as Carly opens her mouth wide again.  As usual, you see a thick strand of saliva still connected from her tongue and the roof of her mouth as she does so, the light glistening from it and her teeth in the process.

                “You’ve gotten to taste my feet a lot, little bro.  So now it’s my turn…” she says, her tongue wriggling outward from over her lips.  “…to taste you.”

                You squirm madly as the hand holding you so firmly in a fist opens up into a flattened palm, pinning your limps down to Carly’s hand with her fingers.  You try to move, but you’re hopelessly held down.  You watch, not able to move, your useless squirming slowing.  The giant pink organ, glistening through the small valley of its center, the light reflecting oddly off the drool coating every uneven inch of her bump-lined muscle, slowly curls outward, Carly’s head tilting forward to reach you.  You tighten your abs as the very tip of the tongue makes contact with your stomach, pressing down, the slippery hardness felt right in your abdomen.  After just a tap, she releases her tongue, leaving a slight damp spot on you.

                “Mmmm…” she murmurs, sounding pleased.  “That wasn’t bad.  But maybe another one, just to be sure…” she says quietly, parting her lips again with a light pop.  You squirm fruitlessly again, trying to get out of your sister’s flat hand, but it’s still no use.  The redness of the tip of her tongue nears you, stretched back but changing into a tone of grainy white on the back of her tongue where she clearly hasn’t brushed very thoroughly in a while.  She presses into your stomach again with more than just the tip of her tongue, folding and inflating just a bit more against you.  The hot, sticky muscle ripples a little even just covering your stomach, shifting side to side as your sister tastes you.  Finally, after about thirty seconds or so of just working her tongue onto your stomach, Carly pulls back, leaving an even wetter puddle on your stomach.            

                “Wow…” she says, grinning slyly.  “You… you… I, mean, you actually kind of taste… sweet…” she says.  You can’t imagine how when you’ve been sweating and overheating from everything she’s done, but apparently you are to her.  You assume that her opinion of your taste is helped by the simple fact of the matter that she has you, fully available TO taste, in the palm of her hand at her leisure.

                “I do?”

                “Yeah, little dummy, you kind of do…” she answers, narrowing her eyes and wrinkling her nose.  “Little bro… what would you do if I ate you?  I mean, actually ate you this time.  Not just scaring you like last time.  If I actually put you inside my mouth, chewed you up, and swallowed you down my throat.  What would you think of that?”

                “I… don’t want…”

                She giggles.  “I’ll BET you don’t want it.  But think about it.  I don’t have to keep hiding you.  You don’t have to keep getting hurt by stuff.  And we’ll be able to hang out for a long, long time!” she says, and her other hand not holding you goes to her flat stomach, which she rubs in slow circles.  “Well, at least for a little while…” she says grinning, her fingers pressing into her shirt and into her taut abs.

                “Carly, NO!”

                “Oh, yes.  You tasted even better that second time.  I think I’d like to keep you inside my tummy like that.  I get a tasty little treat, and you don’t have to worry about stuff anymore.  And I wouldn’t need to worry about where I left you,” she adds coyly, raising an eyebrow.

                Worry about stuff, she says.  Like what?  LIFE?  The cold sweat returns in rivers.

                “I-I-Inside… your…”

                “Inside my tummy, that’s right.  How does that sound?”

                “But… I don’t want to go…” you mumble.

                “Why not?  I know you’re pretty cold and hurting right now.  But if I put you inside me, it wouldn’t hurt or be cold.  You’d be nice and warm inside my stomach, and I wouldn’t have to worry about you anymore; I’d have you with me all the time.”

                “Carly!  P-Please…”

                “Maybe I’ll just check one more time, just to be sure that you really do taste as good as I think you do…” she offers.  As she says this, you watch as two long droobles of saliva come cascading out of her mouth, down the corners and off her chin, where they plop in damp little dots on her shorts below.  She giggles, wiping her mouth off with her wrist.  “See?  You’re starting to make me hungry, little bro.  Your sweet little body is starting to make me want you in my tummy, really soon.”

                Before you can speak again, her saliva-dampened lips are parting again, the massive pink organ, hot and flowing with gooey juices, creeping outward.  Before moving any further, Carly swipes her tongue slowly along the entire rim of her lips in a circular motion, causing any previously dry sections to glisten with a fresh glaze.  She takes three very slow laps around her lips, her tongue contorting and flexing slightly as she presses against her plush lips, making a massive spectacle for you.  You begin to shiver uncontrollably again, your heart rate racing to unhealthy levels.

                Then, without a single break in motion, the massive and long tongue stretches outward, a strand of goop staying connected to the tip and the corner of her mouth.  This time, it goes for your feet.  You feel your toes and ankles pressed and folded into the massive muscle, sticky and corrosive, leaving saliva residue all over you, matting your leg hair down with the sheer volume and thickness of it.  Then, like a human sandwich, your sister folds her palmed hand inward toward the tongue, using it for support against her hand which now has you pressed firmly in between the plush hand flesh and viscous meat monster, pinning your entire body below your neck into it.

                And then her tongue gets to work.  It ripples hard, like a bodybuilder’s biceps, pressing into every inch of you, nearly re-opening your chest wounds.  She reapplies her goo to you thickly and generously, ensuring there’s not a single dry spot on you.  You try and pull your arm out to the side, pushed so powerfully under her finger and tongue, and as you do the space between your arm and side creates a spit bubble.  You have to wave your arm for a minute, causing it to jiggle, before it breaks with a light little pop, spraying you with the gooey remnants. 

                You suddenly feel yourself reacting below, again, much to your dismay.  Despite the discomfort, humiliation, and fear being forced through you right now, you’re not technically in pain, which according to your dick, is a free license to inflate.  And inflate it does, swallowed up in the bumpy, rubbery, muculent folds of tongue flesh.  The warm, gooey slobber works itself under your crotch, attaching your balls to your sister’s massive and rigid tongue in a gummy, fibrous bond, going taut as she thickens it, tightening the muscle inside to optimal capacity.  The awful feeling of embarrassment and violation floods you again as you feel yourself getting larger down there almost twice as fast as before.  Before, you had two pads of flesh, soft yet still a little bumpy as they ground your dick together in a finger sandwich.  Now, however, it’s pressed downward into a soft, soggy, flappy organ, hot and saturated, as it leaks out its soft and bubbly mess onto your entire body.  You can literally feel the thick layer of your sister’s saliva encrusting around your crotch in the cool air, drying.

                Despite the fact that you’re once again being raped and you’re disgusted beyond possible belief, subconsciously, you admit to yourself (painfully) that the sensation flowing through your dick as your sister’s gooey and sweltering mouth organ works hard into you, caressing your tender genitals after so much beating she’s delivered, is the single greatest pleasure you’ve ever physically felt running through your body.  Goose bumps stand up, your hairs rigid and on end, your head rolling back uncontrollably against the soft pads of Carly’s fingers, your body beginning to shake in the last desperate effort to keep your manhood from doing what it seems programmed to do no matter the circumstances.  With nothing else to do, you groan, wishing with all your might that you were somewhere else in the world other than underneath your sister’s hot tongue, getting the greatest build-up you’ve ever received in your life.  You wrap your arms around the slimy organ, hugging it, feeling it press harder into you as a response to the slimy embrace.  You explode hard, ejecting your mess for several seconds.  You look down her tongue as the miniscule droplets, which would have at normal size been a sizeable load, flow down the endless river of saliva being delivered up from the base of her mouth like petals in the rapids.

                For several more minutes, you try to regulate your breathing again as Carly continues to work into your body with her tongue, caking you in layer upon layer of her humid solvent.  And finally, it ends, her tongue snapping back, some parts of your body actually having been attached to it by drying dribbles yanked apart with a painful snap.  She giggles, and you realize there are about three strands still connected to your body from her lips. You wipe at them, but they only come stuck to your arms.  Carly’s low, murmuring chuckle comes through again as she watches you clumsily and helplessly try to rid yourself of the evidence of her terrible violation.

                “Oh my GOD, you taste so GOOD on my tongue.  Are you ready for me to do it?”

                It’s just like your dream.  It’s happening, right now.

                “N-…”

                “Shut up.  Yes you are.  Your sweet little body wants me to do it.  You liked the way that felt, didn’t you?” she says mockingly, probably expecting the answer to be a solid no.  Your brain hurts at the thought that technically, what she just did felt extraordinarily good on your body.

                “N-…”

                “I said shut up, Jack.  Don’t be scared now.  We’ll get to be together for always now!” she says, so brightly and cheerfully she might as well be saying good morning to her best friend.  You watch her mouth open wide, her teeth glistening, her tongue resting at the base of her mouth in a deep pond of warm spit.  Her hand lurches forward, her fingers gripping you tightly and powerlessly, as you go careening toward your sister’s waiting and expectant mouth to be mercilessly ground up by the steel-smashing power of her molars.

                You begin to wonder if Carly knows how to chew quickly to somewhat limit your pain.

Chapter 11: Inconvenient Surrealism by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

And JUST when you thought it was over, it's NOT!  Oh, the crazy, crazy trickiness...

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.

Chapter 12: The Amazing Human Chewing Gum by Jacksmith

You’ve managed to lodge yourself in the space in Carly’s mouth where her tongue normally rests, inside the perimeter of her teeth.  You soon realize that with the limited space, you’re best off just pulling your legs in to your chest and hugging them, you head ducked.  The goopy pool of saliva surrounding your butt and feet begins to turn your skin soggy and thick.  Every once in a while, from the roof of Carly’s slimy mouth, you feel a warm dribble settling down like an icicle, eventually attaching itself to your body and rolling down your back.  Your sister’s tongue flaps around, splashing the gooey spittle onto you, and even starts snaking itself over you, rippling the muscles inside against you, feeling you: beginning to digest you.  This idea sends shivers down your spine, but you try to ignore it as Carly’s tongue prods at you from all directions, lapping at your face and getting it even stickier.

                The air inside is hot and muggy, and you can barely breathe.  Your only source of oxygen is when Carly opens her mouth a small crack every thirty seconds or so and inhales slightly to give you some air.  These little interludes feel cool against your skin, but they end just as soon as they begin, plunging you back into the damp darkness of your sister’s mouth.

                You think you’ve been sitting in here for around a half hour or so, as it seems that Carly has taken to watching a TV show while holding you gently inside her wet cave of a mouth, having no way to directly interact with you.  Every once in a while, Carly laughs at the show, sending a pulsing vibration into you from the base of her mouth, as well as a rumbling boom, as if you were sitting inside a stereo set as it made noise.

                You’re absolutely miserable, your skin becoming soggier and soggier with each passing minute, your neck and limbs getting cramps from having to bunch so closely together to make room; even at your small size, you assume Carly has to hold her jaws up just a bit to fit you snugly inside.  At any rate, her teeth don’t quite touch, so she’s clearly having to make concessions for the new tenant of her mouth.  And of course, Carly’s relentless tongue continues to probe you.  However tightly you have yourself bunched up, her tongue is persistent; it eventually manages to break past your arms, snaking onto your stomach and chest, where it continues to massage you with its leathery, sticky mass.

                On the bright side of things, though, you now know that your sister was, once again (for the time being), bluffing up a storm about killing you.  It seems she really just meant to use this time to teach you another lesson.  Either that, or she just intends on thoroughly savoring your flavor before eating you, either one is technically conceivable.

                Eventually, you decide to try and see if she’ll let you out.  Carefully placing your hands on her porcelain-like teeth, you climb over the slippery little barrier and press your fingers into the inside of her lower lip.  When her mouth opens again on the next cycle of your oxygen, you leap forward, managing to push your chest and head through her lips, which catch on you as they start to close.  You hear a little giggle, and then Carly opens her mouth wider, allowing you room to move.

                “Wha’ are you ‘oing, ‘ittle bro?” she says, bouncing you around as she says the limited words possible to speak without closing your mouth completely.

                “Carly… please… let me out, I’ve learned my lesson, I know you are going to do stuff if you want to to me, just… just stop, let me out.”

                “I ‘on’t hink so,” says Carly slyly, her tongue flapping about and squeezing you in the legs as she speaks.  You watch helplessly as her thumb rises up, presses against your face, and shoves you back into her mouth.  Her lips close slowly afterward, and Carly murmurs low and satisfied at having you once again safely trapped inside her mouth, chuckling happily and vibrating you again as she does.       Suddenly Carly’s tongue presses hard into you, easily pinning you against the inside of one of her cheeks.  You grab onto it, instinctively trying to push it off, but your hands only slip, sloshing off some saliva drops.  Then, sliding over onto your shoulder, the tongue expertly pushes you downward; you slip easily onto your back, most of your body now submerged in hot saliva, your feet propped up over Carly’s molars, your head slammed uncomfortably against the slick surface of her top teeth as you go down.  The tongue then splashes into the lake of spit and begins to knead at your body, hard, covering most of you up.  It’s not like before, when it was caressing you to taste you.  This time, it rams you violently, working up and down your body, even onto your face, rubbing you raw despite the massive amount of warm liquid you have to soothe the wounds.  As this happens, then, you feel the floor of your sister’s mouth compressing up and down.  You actually see the gleaming cheeks as your sister breathes again undulating in and out like the valves of a beating heart.

                It is at this point you realize Carly is sucking on your naked body.  You tense up, horrified, hoping it will end soon.  Despite your attempts, though, mouthful after mouthful of saliva leaks into your nose and throat against your will, filling you with a warm feeling but at the same time creating a thickening effect in your throat.  You soon realize that as Carly sucks on you and savors your flavor, her mouth is actually producing more saliva out of hungriness.  The saliva soon begins to build up around you, and with Carly’s mouth only opening slightly and in a small opening just below your chin level, you know the condition in here isn’t about to improve much.

                At the next breathing, you dash for Carly’s opened lips again.  However, she must have felt you clambering over her teeth for another attempt at discussion from over her lips, because as soon as your face appears framed by Carly’s plush lips, her finger pokes you hard, sending you face first into the pond of stagnant slobber at the bottom again.  Gasping for breath, you feel a spit bubble forming around your face and squiggling across you as you lift up, pressing hard off the area under Carly’s tongue.  However, just as you manage to get back into a precarious crouching position, her tongue comes down hard on you, mashing you into the base of her mouth.  You manage to lift your head out from under the tongue as your midsection is twisted into the soggy ground, Carly’s cheeks continuing to puff in and out as she sucks on you harder, trapping you at the base of her mouth.

                This goes on for a painfully long amount of time.  Your skin begins to go numb, and you start to wonder if Carly’s tongue is strong enough, combined with the digestive enzymes leaked by it, to actually start making your skin fall off.  This thought sends a chill up your spine.  You try sticking your hands underneath the tongue and lifting up, but of course this is the equivalent of sticking your hands under a rhino’s stomach and trying to lift up.  In fact, as Carly feels you pressing against her tongue, she takes a momentary break from sucking your midsection to wetly slap you with the tip of her tongue, sending your head smacking against her teeth again, leaving you dizzy and probably with a small bump on the back of your head.

                You run your fingers along the section of your body being sucked, and almost do a double take at how soft it’s become.  Your body feels like it’s been floating underwater for half a day, so quickly and powerfully is your sister’s tongue working on you.  As you continue sliding your hand down your side, you feel your stomach and actually feeling multiple damp peeling skin pieces from the top layer of your stomach.  This sends you into a frenzy of kicking and pushing into the muscular, meaty flesh, trying to break out from under Carly’s tongue as you realize what’s happening to you.  So moist has your skin become, that it’s become vulnerable to the raw breakdown strength of the tongue, taking you at your softest and then rubbing until you start to peel like a piece of fruit.

                You want to scream, so terrified are you of what will happen if this continues.  Your skin is literally being slowly but surely flayed off of you, painlessly, with a simple, continuous sweeping motion from your younger sister’s animalistic tongue.

                But the more you fight against the tongue, the harder Carly grinds you down into the damp mouth flesh at the bottom, the more submerged in the steadily growing level of saliva you become, and the less air you have to breath as Carly’s tongue begins to compress on your lungs.  From all around you booms another low murmur of enjoyment as your sister takes pleasure in your pitiful attempts to escape the crushing and digestive mass of her tongue.

                To your delight, you are suddenly given a reprieve as you watch Carly’s mouth open wider, her tongue getting into standard speaking position.  Through the opening of her mouth and into the light outside world, you see the massive lower panel of her cell phone.  Now, not having to worry about whether or not her mouth is open so you can hear the words she says, Carly freely speaks as you cower on your side, crumpled into a compact ball beside her molars.  Some of the words come out blurred as Carly quickly opens and closes her mouth in the normal conventions required for forming words.  For you, it’s an odd spectacle of what a human tongue and lip set are required to do to form sentences so quickly as her lips smack together, her tongue tapping the roof of her mouth.

                “Hi, Jenny.  What’s up?” says Carly.  Despite the fact that she can close her mouth, she still doesn’t close her teeth all the way so she doesn’t completely mash you down into the river of saliva.  In order to compensate for the change in her speaking abilities, your sister resorts to making small clicking noises with the edges of her cheeks.

                “Nothing much, nothing much.  You going to Kristy’s house next Saturday?  Cool.  Hey, I heard they were going to… NO.  Did they REALLY?  That huge jerk!” says Carly, speaking about things you couldn’t possibly know or care about.  “What’s that?  My voice?  What about it?  It doesn’t sound funny, what are you- oh, yeah, yeah.  I’m, uhh…” says Carly, pondering for a moment.  “…chewing a piece of gum.  Yeah, a piece of gum.  What?  Umm, yeah, I guess it is kind of big.  What?  It was a BIG piece, okay, Jenny?”

                You almost want to roll your eyes at this conversation taking place with you right in between, the warm air accompanying Carly’s responses flowing out past you.  At least it’s a welcome change from having your body broken down at its core by your sister’s mouth organs.

                “FLAVOR?  You always ask the weirdest questions, Jenny.  Umm… I can’t remember…” says Carly, giggling lightly, obviously more at the fact that she’s just compared you to a piece of chewing gum than what Jenny probably thinks.  “It’s PEOPLE flavor, Jenny, how about that?  Yeah, I know, I know… Well duh, I’m just kidding girl.  You seriously think they make…” she says, and suddenly she giggles hard at whatever the response from Jenny is.  “…yeah, yeah, I guess that’s true, but I seriously am kidding.”

                Few times in the course of human history, you think, has there been a statement as sickly ironic as that one.

“It’s just really good, how about that?” says Carly playfully.  A moment of silence passes for you, probably as Jenny answers at the top of the phone, well out of earshot of you.  “Huh?  Jenny, I think you’re starting to break up a… okay, I hear you.  Did you say my brother?  What’s he doing?  Oh…” she says, and as she does you feel an extra long and stringy gob of saliva drip off roof of your sister’s mouth.  “…no, he’s been good, yeah.  No, really, he has, he’s a lot better now,” she answers, her tongue giving you a soppy single stroke on your arm as if giving you a little wink and a nudge.  “I PROMISE, Jenny, if he does anything else, I’ll call you up.  No, really, I will.  Yeah, yeah, he kind of is a wimp…” says Carly, chuckling.  “You want to do WHAT?  Geez, girl, I mean, he’s kind of a meanie sometimes, but you seriously want to…” says Carly, listening for a few seconds before laughing hysterically, rupturing the drying spit bubbles around your body, sending the little lake into a splashing frenzy as you are tossed over Carly’s molars and into her cheek, which you bounce off of very quickly and land back in the space under her tongue.

“I guess that is kind of a good idea… no, no, my parents wouldn’t… well, I mean, they’d probably care, but I could take care of them…” she says.  You just bet she could.  Your parents are your little sister’s puppets.  You don’t even want to picture what kind of cruel prank she’s conceiving to pull on you right now.

“Okay, then?  I’ll see you tomorrow at practice, girl.”  The phone snaps shut, and so does Carly’s mouth as you are launched back into steady darkness, broken up only by the occasional rising of her lips for breath.

                Thankfully, Carly’s tongue actually sort of leaves you alone at this point.  You’re still pretty wall-to-wall inside her mouth, but at least it’s not actively putting you in a submission hold and sucking the skin right off of you.  Nearly anything is an improvement over that scenario.

                After another large chunk of time passes, you cramped up once again in the corner of Carly’s mouth near her tongue, you feel her head rearing back, followed by a soft wheezing sound coming from her throat.  You know what’s coming, but have little way to react to it.  Carly’s mouth opens wide as she coughs hard.  You try to grip at her teeth, but your hands slip; you are thrown toward the opening of her mouth.  As you go flying outward, you find yourself catapulted into a sticky, gummy puddle in your sister’s waiting, plush palm, which just as quickly pushes you back and closes back over her lips, causing you to tumble back inside all in a single swift motion.

                “Excuse me…” says Carly politely, using her tongue to work you back into your corner.

                Now back where you started, you place your hands out in the wet darkness and find something else.  As light floods back in for the briefest of seconds at the next breath, you realize it’s a chunky globule of phlegm, glistening and barely transparent.  You try to push it away, but it instantly attaches to your arm, like a massive and thick chunk of taffy.  The next several minutes are spent trying to get it off, your fingers twisting and squeezing at it, breaking it into smaller droobles of mucus and compressing the thin bubbles of it.  With a final swipe, you are relieved of the last little chunk of the disgusting stuff.  You aren’t inside Carly’s mouth for much longer before you feel movement, gravity dragging you down harder into the pool of saliva, and finally as it all starts to bob around around in uneven waves, you find gravity shifting to the side.  You fall against Carly’s lips, and then feel the plushness parting.  You go tumbling out, along with a stream of saliva behind you, as your sister spits you into her waiting cupped palm.  You swipe off spare strands, then look up at your sister, confused, realizing you’re back in her room.

                “Did we learn our lesson, little bro?”

                You nod.

                “Can you tell me what it was?”

                You think wildly, realizing you may be trapped.  Surely this has to be about what she said earlier.

                “That… you are able to do whatever you want?” you say, trying to sound certain but failing a little.  Carly’s stern face returns.  Wrong answer.

                God damn.

                “Well, that’s true, I can do whatever I want, but that’s not what the lesson was.  Gotta say, Jack…” she says, sighing and taking a seat on her bed.  “… I’m not too happy right now.  You just spent ALL that time with me trying to teach you a good lesson to remember, and you just sat there, not thinking about it at all.  I don’t think you appreciate me, little bro.  Do you?”

                “Yes!  Of course I do, I…”

                “No you don’t.  You can’t possibly.”

                “But I DO.”

                “Jack, can we please stop the lying already, it is getting SO old…” she answers, abruptly silencing your argument.  “Good.  Now, because I’m your big sister and I love you, I’m going to give you another chance to learn your lesson.  Tomorrow, you’re going to appreciate me for a very long time.”

                You skin runs cold and you begin to shiver.  She grins down at you, curling her fingers around your shaking body to get a better feel for the fear running through you.

                “Don’t be afraid, little bro, I’m not going to suck on you again.  Although, that actually wasn’t too bad…” she says, thinking, no-doubt considering doing this again someday.  “…but I’m not going to do that again tomorrow.  No, TOMORROW, I’m going to do something that you won’t want to forget for a very long time.  After tomorrow, little bro,” she says, bringing you closer to her face.  “You’re going to look me in the eye and finally tell me that you belong to me.”

                The evil grin rips into your very soul.  She truly means what she’s saying.

                “Now, let’s make sure you’re rested.  I’ll need you to be awake for it tomorrow…” she says calmly, reaching down with her other hand to the floor.  You peek over her finger ledge and down to the ground, where her other hand is currently peeling off a tight white sock and lifting it up.  She smirks.

                “Since you like my socks so much, I figure I might as well give you what makes you happy,” she says gleefully, moving your body over the mouth of the sock and releasing you from her cool fingers. You fall downward, bumping off the rough fibers of it.  The top twists shut several times to prevent escape, and you dangle on the suspended bottom.  Suddenly the base begins enclosing, and you realize Carly’s fingers are squeezing the sock in a fabric-lined embrace, bunching you up into a warm and cushy fist.

                “Cheer up in there, Jack.  I haven’t been wearing them for very long, but I bet if you look hard enough, you can find some of my sweat in there…”

Chapter 13: Sole Survivor by Jacksmith
Author's Notes:

Is it weird of me to have just as much fun naming these chapters as actually writing them?

You awaken to the feeling of gravity giving out as you roll down the cushy slope of the inside of your sister’s sock, landing with a plop in her palm which quickly closes around you in a fist.  You groggily blink your eyes, getting your bearings, and look around.  Sunlight streams in through the window.  On Carly’s digital clock, you see that it’s 7 o’clock now, normally almost time for you to leave for school.

                “All right, little bro, wake up!” says Carly, slapping at your cheeks with a fingertip.  “We have work to do.”

                “I’m awake…” you say, tired and already getting nervous.

                “I want you wide awake for this.  This time, you’re going to pay attention, and the lesson is going to stick, because you really didn’t learn anything at all yesterday, and that bothers me a little.”

                “Sorry.”

                “Don’t try and lie to me, just do better today.  Are you ready?”

                “For what?”

                “For the day, silly.  You’re going to school with me today.”

                Your heart flutters a little.  While you certainly don’t want to hear what the actual lesson is yet, it occurs to you that a day at school might offer brief chances to alert someone to the madness going on in the relationship of you and your sister, and hopefully you’ll finally get some help.

                “Okay,” you answer simply.  Carly tilts her head, giving you a funny look.

                “That’s it?”

                “Umm, yeah, I think…”

                “Well, then… ready to go in?”

                “Go… in?”

                “Yes.  Go in.”

                “Go in where?”

                “Jack, will you stop trying to play this game with me.  You’re going in my shoe.  I’m going to wear you today under my foot,” she says cheerfully, as if discussing the weather.

                Your mind goes blank.  You don’t even have a response formulated several seconds afterward.  Carly sits there, drinking in your reaction to this new development.  Surely it’s not possible to survive something like this?  Is this her way of finally killing you?

                “Carly, I… I can’t go in there…”

                You watch as Carly reaches over the edge of her bed, and brings up a pair of black moccasins between two of her fingers, clearly ignoring your last comment.  She places one on the bed next to her, but props the other one up, holding it up to you so you can see the inside.

                “This is where you’re going, little bro.  Right inside here,” she says, tapping on the outer part with her thumb.  Inside, you can see the gray felt of the interior, flattened from so many uses.  You can actually see a greasy black imprint in the shoe from the number of times your sister has worn this particular shoe, especially on the heel and ball, absolutely soaking it with her perspiration.

You begin to shake your head wildly.

                “NO!  Carly, really, I mean… you can’t…”

                She laughs.  “I CAN’T, huh?  Didn’t we just have this conversation last night?”

                “Well, yes, but I mean… this, this… I can’t… I won’t…”

                She squeezes you harder in her fist, forcing you to gurgle a little to get your oxygen.  “What’s that you just said?  I’m pretty sure I just heard you say you WON’T.  Did I hear you right?”

                You’re despondent. 

                “Answer me.”

                Nothing.

                “ANSWER me, you stupid little boy.”

                “I-I… I…”

                “How about we back up.  I’m going to put you into my shoe, Jack.  And then I’m going to put my foot on top of you.  And I’m going to wear you to school.  How does that sound?  That sound good?”

                “But…”

                “Perfect…” says Carly, grinning.  “See how much easier this is when you agree with your big sister?”

                You nod, swallowing hard, your mind already getting that familiar feeling from just yesterday.  The abandonment of hope, steadily slipping away.

                “Won’t that… I mean, won’t that… k-kill me?” you squeak out hesitantly.

                She snorts.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Jack, of course it won’t kill you.  Unless I trip or something, or I forget that you’re in there, then you might die.  But that’s all!” she says, jokingly, enjoying your reaction of stupefied terror.  “So, now you have a couple of choices…”

                “I… do?”

                She shakes her head in condescension.  “Well, don’t get too excited, none of them involve you not going into my shoe.  But here’s your choice.  You can either go under my toes, or under my sole.  I’ll let you pick the one you like better.”

                Yeah, you think.  The one you like better.  Having Carly’s full body weight threatening to slam down on your, or being kicked repeatedly all day in the front of her shoe.  What a great selection.

                You think quickly, picking your poison.  Carly’s toes can’t apply as much pressure, but with each step, she would be grinding you into the front of the shoe.  That could easily knock you unconscious after a few times.  While Carly’s sole certainly is right below her leg and therefore prone to more pressure, you recall that your sister has particularly deep arches, and in the overly dignified way she walks everywhere, it occurs to you that you might survive for longer under there as she intentionally walks more on the balls of her feet anyway.  Plus, her sole is very soft, and you know that whatever surface you’re touching for six hours will beat you up a little.  You might as well have it be the softest part possible, as opposed to her probably once-again deathly dry toes.

                “Time’s up, little bro.  What do you want, my toes or my sole?”

                “Your… sole…”

                She looks a little surprised at you, clearly expecting toes.  “Okay, then, soles it is.  You’ll get to enjoy the hard work you did for them the other day, making them all soft again.  I like them when they’re soft.  I bet you do, too,” she adds playfully. You nod.  “I thought so.”

                Her hand moves toward her shoe, and holding you over the slightly tilted mouth of the moccasin, you are released from her finger cage.  You land with a flop on the matted felt insole.  Instantly, you can feel the slight dampness in it, soaked into the very fibers of the shoe, so many times has Carly worn these and sweated in them.  You push off of the smelly insole, climbing forward, using the smoky black marks in the shoe as a guide to know where to lay.  You discover the exact spot of the sole in the shoe as gravity shifts, the shoe lowering to the ground.

                “Good boy.  Now lay down, side to side,” instructs Carly.  You obey.  “There we go.  Now hold still…” she says, lowering her foot.  You watch as her toes pass over you, slamming into the far end of the shoe.  Then comes the rest, descending slowly over you.  As soon as you are sandwiched in between the two layers (one of damp, sweaty felt, the other of cool and all-encompassing foot flesh), you begin to shiver uncontrollably again, claustrophobia setting in.  Carly must feel you shaking this hard, because her foot slides out a second later so she can see you again.

                “Why are you shaking?”

                “I…”

                “Are you afraid?”

                “Well, I…”

                “Just answer the question.  Are you afraid?”

                “Yes…” you say sheepishly.

                “Well, you don’t have to be,” says Carly, trying to sound reasonable as if disciplining a troubled elementary school kid.  “I’ll be right up here.  I’ll walk really carefully, I promise.  Nothing will happen to you in there.  You’re my little brother, I won’t let you get killed.”

                “But… but why do we have to…”

                “Why do I have to wear you?  It’s pretty simple.  After you get through today and you see that I haven’t stomped you too hard, I think you’ll appreciate your big sissy a lot more like you should.  I’ll see you later, okay, little guy?” she says without another word, burying you alive in her foot flesh, blocking out the light.

 

                You remember back to your days as a young child going to the doctor’s office, when you had to get your shots.  You’d cry a lot, but when you had the actual shot, it only stung for a second, and the doctor would just tell you to squeeze your parent’s hand until it was over.  Just hang on, and it will be over in a second.

                Now, as you lay underneath the doughy sole of your little sister, mashed hopelessly into the sweaty felt shoe, you try to put this idea into practice.  As Carly walks around, your entire world consists of being dragged down against the damp insole of the shoe as her foot rises into the air, then being pressed upward into the oppressive mass of sole above you as her foot descends, sending a shockwave into your bones with each overly dramatic step she takes.  Just hang on, and it will be over in a second.

                “A second,” of course, in this instance meaning six hours.

                At first, it was just a constant barrage of steps, your body being continuously smashed down by Carly’s sole, stopping just short of actually violently crushing your body because of the large indent between the depth of her sole vs. the level of her heel and ball.  Your arms folded tight at your sides, your legs straight, your head tilted to the side, you just try and wait it out, feeling the pummeling getting worse as Carly stomps gleefully through the halls of her school.

                After what feels like an hour or so, the pounding stops.  You hear muffled voices outside the shoe, but it’s so thick you honestly can’t distinguish anything, but you figure Carly’s in a classroom.  The only way you’re actually able to breath is through the little trickle of space between the side of Carly’s massive ped and the interior felt of the damp moccasin, and this is quite a heavy filter on your air.  By the time it reaches your nose, it’s gone through the thick filter of light, sweaty haze surrounding the hot shoe.

                Later on, though, you hear a ringing sound, muted through the fabric of the shoe.  The bell.  You brace yourself as you are once again forced to go on a bounding trip across the halls of your sister’s middle school, jammed tightly under her warm and soft sole, your back taking an absolute beating with each rise into the air as your body pancakes against the ceiling of flesh, before receiving what is essentially a rug burn on the damp felt as you are ground downward on the down step.

                At long last, Carly reaches her next class and you get another reprieve.  Or so you think.  After a few minutes, you feel the shoe going on its side for a second; Carly must have crossed her leg.  It’s okay for a second, as you adjust to essentially standing in a wedged position on the deeper foot skin of Carly’s descending heel below you, but suddenly you feel it shaking as your little sister playfully tosses her ankle side to side, even going in twisting circular motions as if stretching her ankle out.  To you, this tosses you back and forth powerfully against the damp felt sides of the shoe, loosening some sweat spray onto you.  Then, as her ankle begins to spin, you feel momentary losses of gravitational pull as you are suspended in midair before smacking your head against the ball of Carly’s foot, which is pressed firmly into the felt above you at this moment.  You get dizzy very quickly and get bruised shoulders even quicker, all from the simple action of your sister spinning and flicking her crossed leg at the ankle.      

                Once this ceases, you suddenly feel the base of the shoe bending upward; Carly’s bending her toes back absent-mindedly by pressing on a desk leg, flexing her foot.  This allows her sole to flatten more heavily against you; the pressure doubles as her sole comes down, firmly holding you into the felt.  As soon as it does, your face unprepared, you take a mouthful of damp, sweaty shoe felt and feel it getting caught in your throat.  Soon, your sister begins establishing a pattern in this position, flexing her foot back and forth, sandwiching you every couple seconds or so back into the felt, forcing you to take another bite of the matted scruff on the bottom.

                As the day wears on, you eventually begin to notice the increasingly moistened sole of your sister, having worn the warm moccasins for multiple hours, beginning to sweat more and more as your back is thrown against it again and again as she takes long strides, your backside in turn absorbing the excess and becoming just as damp as her sole..

                You wonder if she even thinks about what she’s doing now.  She’s taking a massive risk, walking among normal people, speaking to them, going to class, with you along for the ride.  No one suspects cute and sociable Carly.  No one could ever want or think of a need to ask if she, by chance, has something inside of her moccasin.  No one suspects the incredible, science-smashing anomaly that has taken place without anyone’s knowledge but your own and the owner of the massive pad of flesh you are being ground into currently.  No one suspects for a moment that she, your younger sister, has enslaved a tiny, naked human being and is currently torturing him inside her shoe in a brutal attempt to gain his fearful respect and praise.

                You see it now.  You wonder why it’s taken you this long to figure it out.  Carly stopped wanting to get revenge on you a while ago.  She may say she is, but she’s no longer interested in “teaching” you lessons about how to act. Carly wants to be your goddess. She wants you to worship her with everything you have, perhaps even your life, just because she possesses the ability to off you so easily.  She’s degraded you so far that you can just feel in your bones that Carly doesn’t want to kill you.  She wants to make you her ridiculous, tiny slave to torture whenever she feels like it.  But she won’t do it, even if she uses your body like this, raping you physically and mentally in more ways than one, just to extract that little phrase of recognition that you are, indeed, her owned thing: her doll, her plaything, her little fairy, her sex ed dummy.  You won’t give in to her.  You can’t.  You just can’t.

                Having experienced so much walking, so much tedium of being slammed back and forth between soft flesh and damp fibers, your body having reached the battering point a while back where you’re so numb to it you don’t even care, you are greeted suddenly with the treat of fresh air as your sister’s foot lifts out, replacing the sweaty musk with a sterile, minty scent.  You look up out of the shoe to see Carly’s hand descending on it, picking it up off the ground and raising it up to eye level.  At this point, you realize she’s sitting in a bathroom stall.

                “You sure don’t look dead to me, little bro.”

                “Uh-huh…” you moan dizzily, trying to reorient yourself.  Finally having the pressure off of you, and having clear enough thoughts to notice, your back begins to complain, feeling almost as if you’ve put it out in soreness.

                “Well, I don’t think you are, anyway.  Maybe you’re just faking me out,” says Carly, pulling her middle finger back like a spring on her thumb and then suddenly releasing it, flicking you in the gut.  Unprepared, you actually fly back a few inches, into the deeper section of the moccasin, against the toe area.  Lowering the shoe, Carly holds it at a vertical angle between her knees, pinching the top slightly.  You are now trapped at the base, looking up at your sister’s gargantuan torso.

                “Carly… can I please… have some food?” you say, knocking at your head a few times to get your balance back.

                “Sure,” says Carly, smiling.  “I got you some lunch from the cafeteria.  Here…” she says, taking out a saltine cracker from her jean pocket.  It’s looking a little crumbly, but you’re in no position to complain.  Holding it over the mouth of the shoe, she crunches it in her powerful fingertips, sending a shower of cracker crumbs down to you, allowing them to get stuck in the felt walls and base. You hungrily snatch them out in handful, swallowing them up.  Occasionally, you get a felt hair or the distinct taste of dirt or sweat in the cracker piece, but you couldn’t care less at this point.  As you finish up the remaining bits, you feel a shadow over you and look up to see your sister’s foot descending into the shoe, which she had been lowering steadily to the ground.  You dive forward, away from the front of the shoe.  As Carly’s dry ball lowers in, she catches you underneath, rolling you around playfully for a minute before using it to sweep you back to the center of the shoe, following it up by recovering your body with her malleable sole.

                You’re not sure whether you were knocked unconscious by the incessant pounding of your body, or you just fell asleep from the exhaustion of trying to stay in a taut position to avoid getting crushed, but you have to open your eyes and blink a few times as another wave of cool rushes over your body, your sister’s now-sweaty foot having removed itself from you.  You push up against the damp felt, using your knees as leverage (finding them to be very slick from the swear residue left on them) and stand up, looking right over your head at Carly, who is sitting next to you on the bench.  However, after standing for a moment, your sore and cramped muscles react, forcing you back to a kneeling position as you rub at your back and shoulders.

                “Did you seriously fall asleep in there?” says Carly, giggling, tightening the laces on her tennis shoes.  She’s wearing her basketball uniform, and it’s at this moment you realize you’re in the girl’s locker room as your sister prepares for basketball practice.

                “No…”

                “Yeah, you did, I saw you.”

                “Um, okay, maybe…”

                “It must have been warm in there, huh?”

                “Yeah, kind of.”

                She grins at you.  “Don’t worry, you’ll be back in there soon.  I’ll be back after practice is over in a couple of hours.  I’m going to work EXTRA hard for you.”

                You gulp.

                “You know the yard work I did for you?  What THAT did to my feet?  Wait until I get you underneath them today.  Coach Griffith says we’re running a 5K today for training.  Know how long that is?”

                You nod.  “Yes.”

                “It’s three miles.”

                “Uh-huh…” you say, your voice cracking as the silent terror builds in you like never before.

She giggles softly, so no one else can hear her.

                “After I put you back in here…” she offers calmly and kindly.  “…you’re never going to get the smell off you.  It’s going to just stay on you forever,” she says, her nose wrinkling up cutely at her “joke.”

                You shudder as your sister picks up the moccasin, placing it calmly in her assigned locker and shutting the door, locking you in a cage of mostly darkness, save for the three little grate-like openings in the side.  She presses her face against it, shutting out most of the light, but you can see her eyes staring in at you like a kid in front of a pet store window.

                “You’re gonna feel so good once I get you back in there.  You don’t even want to know how many blisters I’m going to get…” she says, poking a finger playfully through the opening in the locker and wiggling it around, as if waving to you.  “Get your arms ready, because I’m going to need someone to help rub them out…”  Your blood runs cold inside you as Carly’s finger retracts and she stomps away out of the tiled locker room, leaving you to stew.

                You imagine that, at this moment, you aren’t too dissimilar to a death row inmate waiting for the priest to show up.

End Notes:
The next chapter will go up very soon, hit a little snag with the computer
Chapter 14: Washed Up by Jacksmith

You sit on the cold, metallic floor of the locker, surrounded by your “little” sister’s gargantuan personal belongings, sweating up a storm around you, despite the coolness of your surroundings.  As per usual, you have no way to actually judge how much time has passed, but you’d place it at roughly an hour and a half that you’ve been sitting here, maybe even a little bit more.  It’s only a matter of time before Carly’s practice ends and she wears you home in her used gym shoes to complete the day-long lesson.  Already your muscles and back are sore; just leaning forward is extremely uncomfortable, and after you spent some time just walking around the perimeter of the locker just to try and get your mind off your impending doom, you realize that you’ve developed a painful burning sensation in your right ankle, forcing you to limp a little to get around.  And that was just from the six hours of Carly walking calmly around school.  And THAT was when she was wearing her felt-lined moccasins, doing no physical activity.  Now, however, she’s going to trap you inside her gym shoe, already sopping with her sweat, and then she’s going to cover you up with her blistered feet from a three mile run and a pounding basketball drill period.  You shudder, realizing just how far you’ve forced your body to go in the past almost-four days, narrowly avoiding death on several occasions.  You know that you won’t keep getting this lucky forever (“lucky” being the operative word for what you’ve been forced to endure to save your life).  This could very well be the thing that retires you from existence.

                Just by chance, something catches your eye, in the corner.  It’s only a flash, but it’s enough to catch your attention.  You look up high to the top corner of the gym locker, and see a small little patch of dim light, which is odd to you, considering the fact that there’s only three bar openings in the locker to allow light in in three sections on the base of the locker.  What’s even stranger and more interesting to you, though, is what the dim light seems to be illuminating.  The entire locker is a dark blue, which must have been painted a couple decades ago because the paint is peeling in several sections.  However, on the spot that the light shines in a little circle, you don’t just see peeling paint.  You see brown, crusty covering, flaking off heavily.  Rust.  And the layer actually appears thinner, as if there was a developing hole in the locker at the top corner.

                Which means there is potentially a way out of your current fate.

                Frantically, your eyes begin searching for the source of the dim light circle.  You realize that Carly’s purse, which she put in the locker, has a coin pocket in the side that Carly happened to leave open when she tossed it into the locker for practice.  A single quarter fell out of it, and happens to be sitting in a ray of light coming in through the opening in the door, bouncing a slight bit of the beam up to the corner.  You rush for it, heaving it up as if it were a weighted plate from your workouts and angle it to reflect the light where you want, standing in the ray.  You move it slowly, trying to aim for the corner with the sparse bit of light you have.  As you reflect it upward, inching it across the top corner, you suddenly see half of the beam disappear, hitting a jut.  There’s clearly an irregularity up there in the corner.  You walk as far to the side of the light source that you can while still beaming up the corner with the coin, praying that you can see far enough.  The light is fully cut off at this point.  There’s a break somewhere in that rusted corner, and thusly there’s a way to escape, at long last.

                You drop the coin with a little clinking sound on the metal as you walk closer to the side.  The light illuminating the floor of the locker allows you to see a small portion of the locker wall, leading upward.  These lockers happen to have small juts cut into a bit larger than holepunched slots on standard pieces of paper, except in the metal.  They don’t lead anywhere, but they do happen to be placed all along the side of the locker as far as you can see.  You’re willing to guess they continue up to the top.  Despite your aching body and hurt ankle, you once again become aware of the necessary steps to ensure your survival for the rest of the day, at least.

                Even for your size, the holes are still not quite large enough for you to comfortably fit your entire hand in, which definitely presents a problem.  The same is true for your foot.  Your plan is to climb this wall, as you so often do on the attached rock climbing wall at the fitness center, but obviously this time you have no emergency rope, it’s in pitch black for about 70% of the climb, and the grips are barely large enough for you to get any kind of support for yourself.  Not to mention how desperately you feel you cannot do it, having little energy left.  But you have to try.  You cross your fingers over each other, mostly utilizing your three middle fingers, and place them in the small jut in the wall, pulling yourself up and planting the front of your foot (the only part thin enough to comfily into the hole).  Then you begin to climb, placing one hand and one foot over the other as you familiarize yourself with the necessary weight to allow to hang downward as you go.  After about two minutes of climbing, though, you are exiting the dim light patch that shines on the wall, entering the entirely black part, where you can’t see ahead of you at all.

                Looking up, you can use the small dim circle of light on the corner as a guide, knowing what direction to go even if you can’t see the path.  Already your hands are sweating, both from the tiredness on your sore body and the fear overtaking you as you climb.  To you, you’re easily about three stories up at this point, and falling means falling onto a hard, metal surface, leaving little chance of survival in your condition.

                You continue pushing on through the darkness, seeing the dim light get closer and closer, your legs and arms beginning to object from the small amount of support they’re getting; however, you push on through.  Finally, as the patch comes within striking distance, you are forced to cover up the small patch of light you had as a reference with your body as you get closer.  Searching for another handhold, you don’t find one.  Willing yourself to not look down, you slide your hand around the dusty upper corner of the locker, searching.  Eventually, you brush up against the flaky rust, and it feels thin and brittle.  Planting yourself in the position of best support, you push against it with all your might, and feel it crack in a little spray of rusty dust, the chunk falling through to the other side.  You feel around the space.  It’s small, but you can feel it would definitely fit your body through if you were in the right angle.

                You shift your weight to the side, allowing the light to shine on the hole for one last second so you can get a quick visual in your brain before scaling it.  Then, taking a deep breath and ignoring your aching biceps, you go for it, grabbing the other side of the hole with an arm for support.  For a brief, stomach-churning instant of chilling fear you feel your toes almost lose the foothold, but you find it again, pushing upward so you are level with the hole in the locker.  Lifting a leg, you place it through to the other side while hanging tightly with your clammy hands to the rusty rim of the hole, sliding around to the other side.  After a brief search, your toes find the foothold on the other side and you are able to grasp it, flipping your entire body through with a careful contortion of your shape to fit, sending a small spray of rust dust down into the darkness.  You look down.  Your stomach flips over again as you remember how high up you are, probably about the equivalent of 8 stories or so, although you can only guess.  However, you can see that the locker door isn’t shut all the way, as a small crack of light is streaming in onto the back wall of the space.  You can get out.  Gulping, you know that this is going to be the difficult part.

                You begin down, using one foot at a time to guide the way down, searching for the next hold, hanging on for dear life with the toes of your other foot to stay up on the juts, and then putting your weight back down on the lower foot.  Just breathe.  Just breathe, you tell yourself.  One foot below the other, weight down.  One foot below the other, weight down.  Your hands get sweatier and you tighten your grip to lower the likelihood of slipping.

                After what feels like roughly a half hour of work, your foot touches glorious, cold metallic ground.  You let yourself fall down with a small clinking sound, letting your body readjust to having solid ground below you and not having to fear that a slight slip of your fingers would send you tumbling.  Not wasting another moment, you try to catch your breath while jogging to the crack in the door.  It’s small, but of course just perfect for you.  You go into a laying down position, sliding out like a fish onto the wooden bench just below.

                You look around quickly, getting a sense for your surroundings.  Across the strange cavern of the locker room, you can see identical dark blue lockers stretching on and around the corner.  Scattered around, you can see open locker doors, a water bottle here or a rumpled shirt there, just lying on the benches.  Immediately to your right sits a pair of basketball shorts, a light baggy containing toiletry items, and a humongous pair of green flip-flops.  For a moment, the flip-flops force you to do a double take.  You step forward, and in awe, your eyes lock to them, not entirely certain of why.  You look at the center, a small valley dug in where the ball and heel were placed, grime lining the zigzagging, creased design of them. 

After a moment, you wonder what it could be that’s drawing your eyes to these.  Somehow, there’s something different about them.  You’ve been near Carly’s flip-flops, and even though those were gargantuan, these are a different story.  For a moment, you wonder if you’ve shrunken even more, but of course that idea is quickly defeated once you look around the room, scientifically affirming to yourself that nothing extraordinary has happened to you in the last few minutes.  The sheer size of the flip-flops is really what’s bothering you.  Something in the shoe catches your eye.  You step forward to get a better view, the lamplight bouncing off a small, peeling black mark in the shoe, written in decaying Sharpie just under where the heel would be.

“JENNY”

You feel your blood turn to ice water, your breathing going up again.  Don’t panic, you tell yourself.  Just get hidden, stay out of sight, and everything will be…

At that moment, you hear a door slam somewhere around the corners of the long, winding canyons of blue lockers.  Footsteps, slamming, loud, but not like Carly’s, it’s not an authoritative step, it’s simply a powerful step, and even at this size, you can sort of distinguish the difference.  The pounding gets louder, and suddenly from around the corner, you see the skyscraping back of the absolutely monumental Jenny, walking backwards as she continues talking to one of her friends around the corner of this locker pod, placing one of those massive hands in a tight grip on the locker corner for balance.  Her form is incredibly monstrous, her long, smooth, muscular legs completely exposed, stretching on for what seems like half a football field.  Clearly an exaggeration, but to you, little seems like an exaggeration.  You watch as Jenny doubles over a little, laughing at something funny just said by her friend, her butt sticking out in the air, that massive ass that humiliated you so many months ago at normal size.  By default, your brain wanders… picturing what would happen if the same happened to you at this size.

Once again, you look down and see a stream of piss puddling on the wooden ground in front of you.  But you don’t blame yourself in the slightest.

Time seems to snap back to reality, and you look around, frantic, for a hiding place.  The locker behind you might work, but if Jenny happens to look in there, there’s no place to hide yourself.  It’s curtains at that point.

Seeing few other options and barely taking a moment to realize what you’re doing to yourself, you take a flying leap onto the flip-flop, sprinting over the squishy, dirty foam and then take a mad leap off the top, landing in the small, plastic tote of personal items.  You sink to the bottom, falling past what feels like a portable bottle of shampoo and a wadded up tissue.  You move a couple things aside, able to see a small crack of light and the area outside on the bench.  All you hear for a moment is your labored breathing until, with a loud smack that sends a shockwave into your body and sends you rolling over, Jenny’s ass comes slamming down, mere inches from the outside of the bag.  Your view is entirely consumed with the deep folds of her white basketball shorts.  You begin to tremble, wishing she’d just get up and go away so you can continue your escape plans.

But she doesn’t.  And after a minute of terrified watching and praying that your sister’s Amazonian and equally sadistic friend, now the size of the damned Chrystler building, will get up and leave, you see her fingers, grasping the sides of her butt at the top.  Wondering what’s going on, you suddenly see her fingers, locked into the rim of her shorts, descending.  And then the holey, porous material of the white shorts disappears, and suddenly you see, revealed on the wooden bench, the pale cheeks of Jenny, contained now only partially by her underwear, which stretches around her waist in a thin strap.

You hear a ruffling sound as Jenny’s shorts hit the floor, and then you see her hands struggling on the bottom of her workout penny, pulling it up and out of sight.  The cold runs from your spine, down your legs and into your numbed toes.  Please, please, please go away, just change and go away.

But she doesn’t, just like before.  And suddenly, your view is abruptly cut off at the opening as it is squeezed together by Jenny’s absolutely gigantic hand, her fingers twisting powerfully around the plastic bag and sending you into the odd-smelling, darkened pocket.  The ground underneath the thin plastic layer suddenly disappears, and your body goes flying upward, hitting the top of the bag and rolling onto the side of the tossed shampoo bottle as the bag comes to a specific level, probably Jenny’s waist.  It then begins to swing wildly, and you are tossed like a ragdoll around the bag.  With a final swing, you go slamming into the shampoo bottle hard, striking it with your eye.  Your vision goes blurry for a second, the eye you hit in particular seeing blue spots as you blink it away quickly.  You feel your eye, and discover a tough, bruised sensation; you’ve probably got a black eye there now.

And a second later, the bag is opening at the top.  Now sitting at the bottom, hiding under the wadded up tissues, you watch in horror as Jenny’s long, spindly fingers slide into the bag, letting in the light.  Out of the corner, you see her eye, peeking into the bag for whatever it is she’s searching for.  You know that you can’t stay hidden under the tissues for long.

Your heart pounding a mile a minute, you dig your sides into the plastic behind you, and suddenly find something rough and flaky feeling, dry and with small, net-like sections.  Then, your hand finds an opening in the side, a small hole.  Not wasting another second questioning what you’re doing, you’re forced to back up, squeezing yourself into the sizeable hole before you’re discovered.  There’s a great deal of waterproof foam inside, stretched firmly against the net-like material surrounding it in wings and dips.  You crawl further inside, your body pressed hard against the nets.  At least you’re hidden.  You watch Jenny’s meaty fingers sliding across the bottom right where you had been crouching a few seconds before, pinching at the plastic.  You shiver at what might have transpired if you were still in that spot right now.

Suddenly, her watch as her fingers slide over the ragged net-like material, pinching it.  You dodge your head to the side as Jenny grips it hard, pressing into the foam in the middle, your head now squarely between her pressurized pointer and middle fingers.  You straighten your body to make room, terrified anew, as you feel the object lifting up, Jenny’s grip tightening into the netting material, forcing it to go taut and holding you firmly in place.  You can’t move a muscle.  And then, as you come into the light, Jenny holding the object you’re now trapped inside of at her waist, your view shifts down, where you can see her absolutely massive size 10s far below, sitting like hungry panthers on the ground.  You cringe in pain just imagining what some of the previous day’s activities would have been like if Carly’s feet were that large.  Somehow, you manage to find something to be thankful for.  Somehow.

You suddenly go careening through the air as if on a strap-in seat roller coaster, rolling on the side as Jenny shifts her grip.  Your mind still reeling, you look around and realize where you are: the locker room group shower area.  From your perch at a lower diagonal angle to a level view with the room, you see another girl, also in her underwear since it’s a community show, already beginning to lather up, steam rising from the hot water as it washes over her massive, sweaty body, matting her short red hair to her neck.   You’re not sure you recognize her, but you definitely don’t feel like sticking around to try it.  And finally, the dizziness beginning to subside for a moment, the truth hits your mind like a train.  You’re currently trapped inside Jenny’s loofah, as she’s about to take a shower.

Suddenly, the thing you found yourself thankful for a moment ago doesn’t seem so great.  Nothing seems great to you at this moment, come to think of it.  Quickly scolding yourself, you actually catch yourself wishing you were back under the foot of your sister in her shoe, as at that point, she’s at least aware of you and partially not prone to killing you on purpose.

Could Jenny still be mad at you?  Surely not.  People forgive people after that much time.  Jenny’s a strong girl, she’d shrug it off.  Right?

You don’t have time to ponder it, as a minute later, you suddenly see a massive wall of lye soap, bubbles and streams of water sliding down its slick form, coming at you, Jenny’s long fingers pressed hard into the soft edges of it as she grips it, coming at you like a brick wall.  You shut your eyes, trying to prepare yourself.

But you can’t prepare yourself for the body shot you take next as the soap strikes you squarely, your entire body rammed so hard the wind gets knocked out of you while simultaneously sending painful stings all over your body.  You cringe, shaking, and actually make a small squeal of pain, but from the loudness of the showers it goes unheard.  Then, it comes again, mashing you backward into the foam behind you with a slam from its hard outer surface in the center.  You can smell the lilac scent already covering your body and most of the loofah, but you can taste it too, trickling down into your mouth from the net as you struggle to regain your breath through your mouth, the awful, bitter taste paining your burnt throat.

You feel a vibration across the foam and net, and you can see just to the right of your netted section, Jenny’s hand is ravaging the soap hard across the loofah to get it soapy.  Your body already covered in deep suds, you try to shake loose, being a little more slippery, but it’s still no use, having one of Jenny’s thick, muscular fingers mere inches from your head, pinning it in place with the tight net like a butterfly spread out on a pin box.

And then, you feel the trickle of warm water washing over your soapy body, easing the steadily growing soreness all over the net shape of your body as the rough material pressed down on you like a chain link fence.  As Jenny turns around, squeezing a little harder into the loofah as she prepares to face the shower, the hot stream swallows your face, followed by the powerful stream of warm water from the shower, striking you hard like dozens of pressurized firefighter hoses all spraying onto you.  You tremble, trying to draw away from the sting caused on all surfaces of your body by the heavy stream, but this is of course futile.

The vibrating stops, and Jenny’s arm reaches back, allowing you for the briefest second to see her nearly nude body in all of its massive entirety, stretching down her arm to her shoulder, down her flat abs and all the way to those incredibly long legs, ending with her truck-sized feet. This just lasts for a second, as suddenly you’re being yanked back in, and moment later, you’re being compressed directly between the loofah foam and the soft neck of Jenny as she scrubs the loofah all around.  You feel the soap on your own body coming loose and smearing onto Jenny’s neck, still somewhat greasy smelling from the practice, even with all this soapy haze.  She rubs hard, back and forth, rhythmically, and you are suddenly painfully reminded of Carly using you as her personal foot lotion applicant.  However, this is so much worse, as there’s of course no reason to hold back any of Jenny’s immense strength, and as she presses into her skin, harder and harder, you can almost feel her throat underneath, and it itself begins scratching at you in tandem with the rough nets of the loofah.  After rubbing raggedly on your entire body, around and around her neck and down to her somewhat bumpy shoulders, you feel a small tear in your chest as one of your wounds reopens in response to this brutality.

“You were great out there today, girl!” comes the almost musical voice of the red head from what seems like a mile away, as you close your eyes and try your best to ignore the pain, focusing instead on sounds rather than physical feelings.  This has little effect; with a hard scrape along Jenny’s bicep, the rolling hill of hard flesh underneath grinding along your helpless, raw form, you feel a second scratch reopen on your chest.

“Thanks, Allie.   Can you BELIEVE how hard coach drove us today on that 5K?  She was right next to my ear practically the whole time, yelling at me to get going faster!” you hear Jenny boom somewhere above you, although as you continue sliding around along her arms, feeling the muscular and warm grooves of her recently used muscles, it’s a little muffled sounding.  Your body careens in all directions, suddenly going straight down as you feel your heart drop into your chest as Jenny slides the loofah, dragging you right along, down her long and (at this size) curvy hip, the ground below you seeming almost to spin upside down.  A third scratch reopens.

“Oh, she’s just a slave driver, don’t pay any attention to her, and besides, you’re her star player, she needs you to look like an Olympic girl,” says Allie jokingly.

“Yeah, I know, but she still pisses me off a little…”

“Is something wrong?”

“Not really, I guess, my parents are just being kind of rough on me because I was out past ten last weekend on Saturday night.”

“TEN?  They sound like jerks…”

“They are, but it’s no problem.  I can handle them.”

“I bet you can!” laughs Allie.  She comes into view for the briefest second as you are driven back up Jenny’s other hip and into her smooth armpit, gliding upside down along her other arm, the stench from her run infecting you.  Your cheeks are stained with wetness from the shower, Jenny’s greasy sweat leaking all over you, and your own watering eyes as you struggle unsuccessfully to ignore the gnawing stinging in your upper torso.  Despite Jenny’s smooth skin, particularly in her armpit, the ferocity with which she rubs you into this spot still wears hard on you.  Your entire body is now just cringing continuously, in so much stinging pain and crushing bruises from almost every angle.  You close your eyes, willing it to end, just wanting the pain to conclude so you can breathe.

“I was feeling a little sorry for Carly today, the poor girl wasn’t making any of her 3-points…” you hear Jenny boom.

“I saw her.  Do you think something’s wrong?”

Jenny chuckles loudly.  “I’ll BET there is, and I’ll bet I know what it is, too.”

“What?”

“Her older brother.”

“She’s told me about him!  GOD, what a jerk.”

“I know, right?  I’ve actually met him, Carly and I were just trying to prank him a little because he threw Carly down a mud cliff on a camping trip.”

“What the hell!  How can he…”

“I know!  But that wasn’t all, after we got him, we were just gonna leave, and you know what he did? He got up and blew his stack at me, like it was just me that did anything.”

“Oh my God!  What did you say to him?”

You hear Jenny’s deep giggle again.  “I told him to take a hike and get a girlfriend.”

Despite the incredible pain and soreness ravaging you as you go sliding effortlessly down Jenny’s long, powerful left leg, a fourth scratch reopening, you almost want to laugh.  Jenny’s obviously not proud of the childlike response she gave to your yells after being released from the couch, so she clearly feels the need to cover it up now.

“You’re too nice, girl, I would have told him more than that…”

“Yeah, maybe I should have, but hey, you can’t reason with jerks like him.”

“No kidding!  So do you think Carly’s okay?”

“I think so, I’ll have to talk to her though…” says Jenny.  As the loofah reaches her foot, your heart goes into a second level of overdrive.  You are rammed along the bone of her ankle, your body compressing the numerous veins lining her foot top and sticking out.  Then, you’re suddenly along the top of her toes, being dragged across them roughly, each toe individually knocking your chin upward, running along your body hard as each passes quickly.  Her pinky toe curls upward as she pulls you across it, hitting your dick ridiculously hard and sending you into a blind, dizzy spasm of pain originating in your gut.  You want desperately to collapse on the floor and try to work through the pain, but you are still stretched perfectly straight and exposed inside the netted loofah, your dick actually prodding unhelpfully between two strings of the netting, ready to be smacked mercilessly by the passing vertical valleys and fields that encompass Jenny’s goddess-sized form.

Then suddenly, you note with horror that Jenny’s foot is actually lifting.  As it does, you can see her wrinkled, sweaty soles, soaked by the shower, with soap suds stuck in the cracks of her wrinkles.  As she lifts it and brings your body closer and closer, you unable to object or fight back in any way, the effect is like lifting up a coffin after a few decades, as if the sweat had been precariously trapped and contained underneath Jenny’s soles like an evil spirit, released finally for your detriment.

As in your rather surreal dream, the wave of smell is not quite as sweet or mild (mild being the relative word here) of your little sister’s.  Instead, it’s a gruffer, more earthy smell, as if Jenny was some gigantic defender of the forests who lived among the trees and the soil.  As it hits you, your nose can barely react before your body is being pressed against the deep, soapy wrinkles, jamming hard into you.  Even when wet, you can feel how thick Jenny’s foot flesh is, still managing to compress hard into your entire body all at once.  You feel dirty soap scum flakes getting into your throat as you struggle for oxygen, spitting it out as fast as you can, only to have it replaced with a layer of dried grime from Jenny’s heel, which you next find yourself being ground up against.  Out of instinct and desire for a single fresh breath inside this enclosed space of rotting sweat and dirt, you open your mouth fully, and feel a shallow, grooved wrinkle actually fill up your mouth, blocking your air and covering your tongue in the rancid, hard flavors of Jenny’s flesh.  Another scratch opens again.  You look down and see a similar effect to the ball of Carly’s foot, the thin, barely viewable trail of your blood from your chest being trekked along Jenny’s pale, filthy heel, the tiny crimson droplets becoming trapped hopelessly inside the deep folds of flesh.  She continues sweeping, your vision blurry as the shadowed wall of long foot flesh sways along you, driving you from the thick, dry heel into the gruesomely smelly sole, seeping Jenny’s walloping excretion into your defiant lips with each stroke.

Then, with a refreshing wave of fresh steam and air, you are yanked out from underneath Jenny’s oppressive ped, being whipped quickly through the air and up to her head, where you find yourself digging through the forest of dark brunette hair, matted so heavily together because of the sweat.  However, despite the uncomfortable feeling of having the thick hair strands stretching across you like barbed wire, Jenny doesn’t press nearly as hard into her hair as she did all over the rest of her disgustingly overworked body, and you finally have a moment to collect your thoughts, trying desperately to realign your pain sensors before the next brutal attack to your body.  You imagine that this is what boxers feel like near the end of the match, bleeding out of both eyes, their noses and hands broken, their bodies a swollen pulp.  You look down and that’s honestly not too far from what you are; you groan, a quick swish of brown hair rushing past your cheeks and slapping you as it does, allowing you to see the bruised and bleeding remains of yourself.  You can feel a thickening sensation around your eye as the black bruise forms around it. Absentmindedly and mostly out of raging sarcasm, you wonder if Jenny will mind terribly having your blood used in addition to the soap to wash her hair.

“I just… wish I could help her out…” booms Jenny suddenly.

“How?  With her brother, you mean?”

“Yeah, that’s right.  GOD, what I want to do to that stupid jerk…”

“Isn’t he bigger than you?”

You hear the chuckle and can almost picture Jenny smirking spitefully.  “Yeah, but not for long.  He’s only an inch or so taller than me, and Daddy says I’m at about 6’ 1 ½” now,” you hear her state proudly.

“DAMN, you’re one voluptuous piece of woman, aren’t you?” says Allie jokingly, in an overly dramatic voice as if speaking about a supermodel.

“Got that right,” comes the response, just as jokingly.

“So what are you gonna do anyway, beat him up?” says Allie with a laugh.

“Oh, calm down, Allie, I know I can’t really do anything.  GOD, I just want to so badly.  Just punch him in the face or something.”

“He’d probably punch you back; he sounds like the kind of guy who’d hit a girl.”

“Oh, he is!  He trips and hits Carly all the time; I don’t know how she puts up with it.”

“Seriously?  No way…”

“Yes way.  Boy, if only he was a little smaller…”

“He’d still probably hit you…”

“No, no, I mean a LOT smaller…”

“What are you TALKING bout, girl?”

Jenny chuckles.  “Oh, you know I’m just playing.  I can dream, right?   Seriously, think about it, if he was really tiny, like SUPER tiny.”

“What?” said Allie disbelievingly, evidently deciding to just put up with Jenny’s rant.

“Like, small enough to fit in my hand or something.”

You hear a loud snort from across the shower.  “Uh-huh, yeah, keep dreaming girl.  There’s a lot of guys I kinda wish were like that so they weren’t so freaking hard to deal with.  What would you do with him, anyway?”

Water whips your face as you are finally pulled from the matted forest of hair, Jenny’s fingers squeezing even harder into the loofah and actually cutting into your skin in a few places with the ragged netting surrounding the foam.  You squeal again in pain, feeling a new trickle of blood coming from a couple small cuts on your shoulders.  She laughs loudly and heartily.

“Are you kidding me?  I’d stick him up my butthole or something.”

“GOD, Jenny, you’re so GROSS,” says Allie playfully, making a pretend puking sound.  “Where do you THINK of that stuff?”

“Three big brothers, remember?  They’ve poisoned my mind, it’s a package deal.”

“Yeah, I can TELL!”

Your brain swimming, you look down once again at the floor of the shower far below as Jenny holds you at her side, her arm resting from the intense and tortuous scrubbing for a moment.  Ironically, you note bitterly to yourself, at least your wounds won’t get infected because of all the soap you just received all over your body.  You simply hang there, your body long ago having stopped trying to or being capable of moving yourself of your own accord.  You begin to wonder what will happen when this shower is over.  Have you got the strength to climb out of this loofah before Jenny puts it in her bag and carries you home?  What happens then?  Could she seriously mean what she said?  Surely not.  She’s a person, right?  People don’t do that to other people.

Then you remember the glaring example of your younger sister, and suddenly don’t feel so optimistic any more.

“Hey, Allie and Jenny!” comes a frantic yell out of nowhere from the entrance to the community shower.  You’d recognize those dulcet tones anywhere at this point.

“Hey, Carly, what’s up girl?  You feel okay?” says Jenny nicely.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Jenny, thanks… but I was just wondering…”

“Mmhm?”

“Did you… see anyone near my locker?  Did you see anyone open it?”

Jenny chuckles.  “Well, I was over there, because my locker’s over there, but I didn’t open yours, girl.”

“Okay, but…” says Carly. You hear worry in her voice, but somehow you get the impression she’s not necessarily worried about your own wellbeing.  “Are you SURE you didn’t see anyone?”

“Nope.  What’s wrong, did you lose something?”

“Yeah, kind of…”

“What is it, we’ll help you look for it, I’m done anyway,” says Jenny. 

“Okay, umm… that’s fine…” says Carly uncertainly.  You feel a weight, for now, fall off your shoulders.  You at least get this small reprieve before whatever comes next happens to you.  You’re almost angry at yourself for being somewhat happy in this moment, but you can’t help it.  Your world spins again as Jenny swings her arm, coming out of the shower.  She follows Carly out, and you watch as the waterfall of extra water and soap trickles down her slick, shining legs, to her ankles, where it falls off in massive puddles on the tile far below.  It’s like a rainstorm falling past your face, and you actually get a few facefuls more of droplets, still with the bitter soapy taste, dripping down onto your face and into your nose and mouth, despite all you do to block them.

A moment later, you feel the loofah drop onto the wooden bench, thankful that it’s not on top of you.  With the impact, you feel your back driven into the foam, and suddenly, you feel yourself released, the pressure of Jenny’s mammoth fingers no longer holding you taut in place, as you sink into the netty fibers of the loofah.  You have to move, now.  You manage to drag yourself along the foam, tripping several times around the uneven and claustrophobic perimeter until you reach the other side, where the hole is.  With a useless flop, you fall out onto the wooden bench again, Jenny’s humongous green flip-flops resting right where she left them.  You drag yourself forward, digging your fingernails into the soggy wood, and instantly realize this method won’t work, as you’re only serving to further batter your bleeding chest scratches.  Your body is so sore and in so much stinging pain in so many places, your brain doesn’t even know where to make you hurt.  Out of necessity, you roll over onto your back and begin to push off, now more slowly, using most your feet as you essentially backstroke along the wooden bench.

You have to hide yourself somewhere, that’s all you know.  You have to get away from Jenny’s stuff, and you have to keep away from Carly’s locker.  If you can just find a hiding place, nurse your wounds a little, and hold out until someone comes back allowing you to explain this nightmare, you have a feeling you might, somehow, survive this day.  You stop moving for a breather, now a few feet past the green flip-flops and Carly’s locker.  You can make it.  You know you can.

The voices have disappeared; they must have all returned to the gym, leaving you in peaceful and serene silence now in the canyons of lockers.  You grit your teeth, clench your fists and your abs.  Just like a workout.  Stay tight.  Stay tight.  You continue pushing, your slippery feet having a bit of trouble pushing you quickly, but you’re moving.  You see an empty locker up ahead of you, within reach.  You roll onto your side, using whatever reserves of strength you have buried inside your arms somewhere.  With a loud (to you) groan of pain and soreness, you push off, slipping for a second on the watery ground, but you stand, your legs quivering in the effort to remain standing.  And then you walk.  One foot in front of the other, your legs burning, your muscles stretched far too far, screaming.  You’re almost a little amazed that your dick seems to still be intact after the beating you just took.  Your hands fall onto the cold metal of the locker, and you push down, trying to pull yourself through the small crack.  Almost inside…

Cold fingers suddenly wrap around you, the soft flesh, instantly slapping into your wounds as they attempt to heal, squeezing.  Hard.  You feel a fresh little stream come from your chest as if you were just slashed across the midtorso with a steak knife.  You scream in pain, the agitated area compressed like never before, the muscle underneath the massive folds of flesh pressing in on you harder and harder.  You feel you might pop.

Wind whips your face and you’re suddenly face to face with the titanic Carly, volcanoes erupting inside her eyes, squinting, her eyebrows twisted downward into a terrifying and ugly frown, her lips quivering violently and pressing harder together in a grimace of vengeance as she squeezes even harder.  You feel your back pop as if you were getting a powerful back massage, but it’s quickly followed up with the feeling that you’re being pressed just a bit too farm, your innards almost folding together.  You look down and see tiny droplets of blood settling into the grooves of Carly’s finger.

“You… you…” she hisses, unable to get the words out as she continues applying pressure.  “You… you… you stupid, stupid, STUPID little boy…”

You don’t even have the energy to tremble anymore, so great is the pain becoming.  You don’t even have the energy to ponder more than three seconds ahead of time what’s surely coming up.  You look, and suddenly see Carly’s eyes tracing along the wet bench you just crawled across, her eyes returning to the soaking loofah.  “Wha…” she says, confused, and suddenly looks back at you.  “YOU… YOU… you were in the SHOWER, weren’t you?”

“I…”

“ANSWER ME.”

“YES! But, it wasn’t my fault…”

“You better shut up before I snap you in half like a little twig.  You got out of my locker, somehow, I don’t know how, but you did, and then you followed…” she says, taking a breath, unable to absorb it all.  “…FOLLOWED my FRIENDS into the SHOWER…”

“Carly, please, just listen to me, I can explain…” you choke out, your voice cracking.

“If you say another thing, I’ll put you back in my mouth, and this time, I really WILL chew your stupid, tiny little head off like I should have last time.  Got it?”

You nod, weakly.

“Good,” she snarls powerfully, gripping you just as tightly as she stands up.  “I was going to put you in my shoe, like we said, but I don’t think I’m going to do that anymore.”  She leans her face in toward you, her eyes narrowed, her breath hot on your freezing and bloodied body.  “You don’t DESERVE something so easy like that.”

You feel the trembling returning as Carly’s cold hand releases you into the dark fold of her athletic shorts pocket, your crumpled body landing with a final, painful plunk.

Chapter 15: Sisterly Subjugation by Jacksmith

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.

End Notes:

First of all, thanks for reading, especially if you read the whole thing.  And if you actually read every single word of both parts of the story arc, well… kudos to you, impressive person.  Now, it's not going to be immediate, but I reached the end of this sequel and I still don’t have the heart to retire the characters.  So, there will be a third rousing round of Carly-style quality time in the future, but again, I’m ready to try something else before I revisit these characters.  Please rate/comment; I actually do read each one, and I appreciate any kind of critique you can give.  Peace out, kiddies.

This story archived at http://www.giantessworld.net/viewstory.php?sid=2219