She sucked, and sucked, and sucked and - ah! There was that sweet filler. She took her time sloshing it around her mouth before spitting her treat out into her hand. Taking a tissue she dried her son off and put him down onto the pool. She then took a step back, ran and jumped. At his tiny size tactile pressure of the pool was almost like a hard surface, so when her colossal ass came down on top of him it was like the meteor that wiped out the dinosaurs.

If you believe in that sort of thing. She supposed it could be like the hand of God too.

Phil's part in this little drama was fairly brief - he had been wrestling with his mom's tongue and getting ground down by her teeth inside her mouth for ten minutes, and then all of a sudden the chewing stopped and he was dumped somewhere wet and smooth. He looked around, and for once he wasn't in his mom's porcelain throne. Sunlight, blue water. Ah, the pool. His tiny body floated easily, the cool water lapping at his bruises, the warm sun mending his malaise. He sighed. Perhaps he could relax a - "Cannonball!" And then a huge shadow passed over him and he heard his mom's scream of delight at being on-target and then her huge backside came into contact with his fahhffpgghh -

*SPLOSH!*

*

A few hours later after Phil had been fished out of the seat of his mom's swimsuit he was sat at the dinner table dressed for an evening in. He looked with relish at the plate in front of him. His mom had made him a beautiful cut of steak, bloody, and covered in peppercorn sauce. His mouth watered as his mom entered the room wearing a thong and a slightly dirty apron. Her full chest bumped into the side of his head and bounced quietly in front of him. "Whoops, sorry sweetie! This big, juicy steak's for me. This is for you!" She giggled, replacing the mouthwatering steak with a plate covered in a silver serving tray. His throat curdled as he sniffed - he could tell what it was just from the smell. Gingerly he removed the top and was nearly bowled over by her stench. There she was, sitting opposite him on the dinner table happily eating his meat while he sat here staring at his plate filled with her - well, as she once said, at least it was warm. He scrunched his nose. It smelled like domination. Well, it's what she wanted he thought, as he took a fork and knife and ... began.

His mom smiled over at him as he choked. "Your such a good boy Phil." She said. "Make sure to eat it all up sweetie, it took me hours to make."

"Yes, I'll bet it did." He muttered through a mouthful. "What time are we leaving tomorrow mom?"

He jumped as he felt something soft connect with his groin. Looking down he saw her right foot there and his mom giggled loudly.

"Sit down Philip, for goodness sake! It won't bite."

He swallowed and pushed himself back into his seat, inadvertently pressing his groin into the chubby, awaiting sole. His mom sighed happily as she teasingly wiggled her toes about him. "Remember sweetie, if you don't have regular female contact you'll go funny," she snorted, putting a hand to her mouth as she almost laughed up her steak, "and we're leaving at noon tomorrow." They ate on in silence. Well, ate might have been a misnomer, considering Phil's struggles. Silence too, considering how giddy Mrs Metzger was all night. And she wouldn't stop humming. Phil, in a free moment, asked her about it.

"I've had that one tune stuck in my head all day. I can't get it out! It's maddening."

"Which one?" He asked.

"You know, the one that goes um, doo-dee-doo-dee-doo buh bah pumps or kicks, ba ba bum -" She was rapping her fists on the table by this point.

Phil thought what his mother could be talking about. "Pumped Up Kicks? You're talking about Pumped Up Kicks?"

"Yeah! Yeah I think that's the one." She smiled, settling down again.

"That's ... weirdly specific. Weirdly topical for this kind of story, isn't it?"

She smiled directly ahead. "Hmmm? Did you say you wanted me to sit on your face, Phil?"

"Nevermind."

*

"C'mon, here, here!" She said, patting her behind like it was a dog's bowl. He fell to his knees and waddled over to, stopping his face just short of her bottom as she dropped a little tincture into his mouth. He helped her spread her big cheeks and then waited with open-mouth as she farted into his face.

He sighed. Closing his eyes and lying on the kitchen floor, he took his mom's chubby left foot and placed it on top of his face, his nose between her big and middle toes. "Oh, good boy!" She tittered happily, looking down from the sink as she washed. Taking a bif sniff of her toes he heard her moan appreciatively and began softly kissing the sole of her foot as it pressed against his lips. Her lips curling in response, she raised her other foot off the ground and allowed all her weight to rest on her only son's face. It was a struggle, but he still managed to kiss her bare feet.

Appreciating his submission, Mrs Metzger purred in arousal. "Such a good boy," she whispered huskily, wiggling her toes on his forehead, "the pressure will just get heavier and heavier, until ..."

Five minutes later and Phil's entire world was pressing down on him. The world of his mother's foot, smothering him in warm, stinky flesh, crushing him down, down beneath her. Far above the Goddess giggled as she ground her mortal son into the earth beneath her. She luxuriated gloriously in her utter domination of him. That's all it was, that's all it had ever been ...

She scooped him up, that divine Goddess, and held him with her toes. She played with him then, laughing down at him. His head was a perfect fit, he was sure he was meant to be there. She smashed him into her other sole, the warm flesh rightfully taking it's place on him. She began pressing against him, crushing him between her feet, and he put out his tongue in worship.

Mrs Metzger giggled down - her son's entire world was becoming her feet! Her she was, a gorgeous, reubenesque dominatrix who'd be forcing her son to eat from her arse and sleep with her feet for years, and all he did when she squeezed him like dough between her feet was to lick and worship them! Her head rolled back in laughter. She looked back down at her feet; she hadn't noticed she'd been squeezing so hard her feet had gone white! She pulled them slowly apart until she could see her little son hanging limply against her sole, his head still trapped between her toes. She giggled - she was having such a good time she forgot how hard she was squashing him! She walked into the bathroom, stepping on Phil every step of the way, and found the smelliest old tennis shock she could in her laundry basket. Quickly, she jammed Phil's unconscious body up between her buttcheeks until his head popped into her dirty asshole, then pulled him swiftly out again, depositing him in the smelliest section of the sock with his face covered in her bottom sweat and muck! "I'll be back in a few minutes sweetie." She promised, tying the end of the sock and keeping all the hot, musty smell inside with Phil!

A few minutes later Phil woke up, his head ringing. He touched his face, and immediately wished he hadn't. A bit of his mom's dominance had even fallen into his mouth. He saw he was tied in her sock again, and the warm yellowish light seemed oddly serene. The old smell of her feet on cotton was relaxing. And then in the distance  he heard the thunder of her approaching body, and suddenly his world was tipped over and those five thick, plump toes came into his sock, racing for his face! He kissed them, it was lovely, but they crashed into him anyway, the middle and third toe clamping his head as they dragged him deeper into the toe of the sock. He tried to pull them off his head, but his goddess trapped his arms with her toes and then stood on him. The pressure of her smelly insole pushed him further into her. Under her. He felt the harsh movements of her moving her divine foot into his new prison. He was sure he'd be unconscious if it lasted for more than five minutes. Mrs Metzger had put on her favourite trainers; she felt like a morning jog!

An hour later the voluptuous Mrs Metzger jiggled and panted her way back to the building, drenched in sweat from top to toe. The cool fan in the elevator did little to cool her hot body and she ran into her penthouse suite. Heading into her washroom she pulled the sweat-slick jogging gear from her plump body, standing heavily on her left foot as she dragged down her shoes, shorts and finally socks. She flung everything into the washer, except for her left sock which she twirled around on her finger and them simply hung from the mantlepiece as she went to shower. She put a small ceramic model of a horse on top of the sock make sure it didn't go anywhere, with of course the mare's rump right where her son's head was.

A short while later and she up-ended the drenched footwear on the pouffe to find her little boy scrabbling blindly around for air. Giggling at him she pulled something out of her nightgown she'd pocketed in the washroom, and began drying her son off with her used panties. She wrapped him up in her used underwear, holding his face against the subtle smudge in the seat. "What's wrong Phil? Short of breath?" She smiled, making sure to hold his head into the stained seat of her panties. He had to breath through her underwear and her butt's brown skidmarks! She held him there long after he stopped struggling, pushing his lovely young face against her excrement, and she began to get very aroused.

Taking her son in her hands, she pushed him up between her buttcheeks and screwed him in left, then right, until his head was exquisitely lodged in her anus. When she was satisfied he had no chance of pulling his head out of her bowels she clenched her cheeks on him once, twice and then tugged up her panties, going up to bed. Her panties snapped behind him, and soon, Phil's entire world was his mother's curvy behind. The smell that welcomed him was much worse than anything her feet had done to him. Tears came to his eyes and he felt like his nose was burning. Soon, his mother started clenching her butt like she always did, and Phil was pummeled by both of his mother's cheeks. He tried to ignore the constant "massage" from his mom's anus on his poor neck; at least this way he had a lot of gas to breath - even though he liked it when his mom kept him between her soft, warm buttocks he suffocated very easily due to lack of air (apparently he had a habit of cumming when he did this, though he suspected she told him this because did too) - and if he was hungry all he had to do was stretch out his tongue and ... lick. He pressed his chest, limbs and crotch against the soft, inner reaches of her buttocks - it was a warm little bed, even if it did press down on him from all sides, and he never had much problems getting to sleep. It was much easier than getting sat on and having his head wedged between her crushing cheeks. Thankfully though his mom decided that as a growing boy he needed to learn how a woman felt inside, and this meant offering his face into the mouth of her asshole, or as she called it, his girlfriend. Pushing his head back against his girlfriends anal ring, he gave a few experimental pushes to test it's strength but of course the only outcome was his mom's enormous butt-cheeks squeezing his tiny body. She squashed him once, twice, five times - it was almost a relief when she maintained the fifth one until he quickly blacked out for the night. "Good night, sweetie!" She called again as he slipped into darkness.

Morning came, and with it a daily ritual; shower (Phil had grown back to normal and was allowed to shower with his reubenesque mom, as long as he lay on the floor like a showermat and stopped her from falling - which she did, three times, each right on his face); breakfast at the table (Phil was allowed to eat normal food this morning, though his mom insisted on farting on everything before he opened his mouth), then a quick wash with him letting his mom stand on his throat as they waited for him to shrink back. Before either of them knew it she was squishing Phil into the bottom of her nylons and then squishing her feet into her tight black pump. The airport awaited.

*

She looked down - Mrs Metzger thought she had a face that'd win poker tournaments. She was standing at the security check, with a thirty-something latina woman in blue looking her up and down curiously. She seemed particularly interested in her upraised foot. Little Phil was trapped inside her nylons, his face buried between her toes as they clamped onto his arms, his upper body and groin pressed into her soft, smelly insole, his legs hanging limply. The security guard made a sucking sound with her teeth. "You're Debra Metzger? Of Bottom-Heavy Industries?"

"I am." She replied, a touch proudly.

The guard leaned in, pressing her high cheeks against her own. "I love your products." She whispered, and grinned. If Debra had been worried, all her tension evaporated at that.

"Everything seems to be in order miss, just one more thing if you don't mind? A test of your balance and coordination. Raise your leg like this and stand on one foot." Debra smiled widely and, scrunching Phil once in preparation, slowly brought her weight down onto him, giving her audience what they wanted ...

*

It was one hour into the flight before Mrs Metzger took her son out of her stockings. Now she was in the bathroom, having a discussion with him. It wasn't an arguement, because he was currently trapped inside her armpit, and she put his face into her acrid-smelling flesh whenever he said something she didn't like and waited until he learned his lesson. She had just pulled him out, and was responding to a dispute he'd raised while choking on her smell.

"Well sweetie, you didn't want to travel around full-size with your face in my bum like we agreed, so it had to be the feet! I don't know why you're so shy, everyone knows you spend all your time kissing my bottom and living in between my cheeks anyway. Mommy can't be mommy without her little slave."

"S-slave?" He said, a touch reproachfully.

"Oh I'm sorry sweetie, I didn't mean that. You know what I mean though. Mommy can't be a good dom without someone to grind under her feet, or such a good business woman without her nice young son's face stuck up her bottom." She purred, lowering her arm and closing her armpit around his tiny head, trapping him in her sulphurous canyon. She was rewarded with his aroused groans, which she took to mean discussion over. "Now hush sweetie. I'm going to put you down by my feet. It should only be a few minutes until you grow back to normal and then you can take your seat beside me. We're already in first class, so it's right outside the door and to the right." Five minutes later her foot, already planted and pressing Phil into the ground, only covered most of his face, and scant time after that he was back to normal size and sucking on her toes. She flushed the lever, turned around, coughed politely after a moment of inactivity and then felt Phil press his face between her meaty buttocks and his little tongue pop into her rectum as he cleaned her ass with his tongue.

"Mmm, okay sweetie, okay. Your clothes are in my handbag, over there." She motioned, eyes closed. A short while after she had gone herself he rejoined his mother in her seat, dressed surprisingly normally. He'd really expected her to try something funny, like making him wear a leather thong or something, but no. As the lights dimmed she took his hand, placed it in the warm crater of her seat and sat on it. He commented on how soft and heavy it felt. "Just think of it sweetie, that's normally your face down there," she giggled, crossing her legs towards him, "All warm and tucked away under my bum!" He sighed as he caught a stewardess giggling at them. She probably thought his mom was some rich businesswoman and he was her high-price playboy. He could barely argue at present; so acclimatized he was to having a pair of large, warm female buttocks on his face that his nose twitched instinctively, feeling cold and naked. It would pass he knew, but it was a sign of his mom's victory. He wiggled his fingers, getting a handful, a feel of that glorious maternal derriere, so large, so dominant. His hand was going numb, but his mom didn't let him out until their meal came, and then made him eat with it.

Nine hours later they stepped out of the plane onto the Japanese tarmac, her in front of course, smugly wiggling that enormous arse for his viewing pleasure, he terrified to take his eyes off it, stumbling down the stairs. A lady greeted them, helped them to their chauffeur-driven car and they were on their way.