PART TWO

Chapter 3

As tall as ever, as callous and business-like as ever, Mary strode into our bedroom.  Wearing one of her expensive Armani business suits, she looked as stunning as ever, but the sheer size of her now turned my insides to ice and I backed away from Jess’s prone body, to fall on my ass, mimicing her soft crunch in our fish tank prison’s blue gravel.

Mary was carrying one of her best Gucci, calfskin briefcases.

Mary wrapped a perfectly manicured hand around the back of the Tiffany chair in front of the dresser and brought it over to our prison.  She said not a word.

Seating herself, she brought her briefcase up onto her lap, fixed me with a momentary stare, shifted that stare for an instant to the still-fainted Jess, then began poring through the contents of her briefcase.

Her long black hair falling to either side of her face in front of it, she riffled for a few moments, then at last produced a manila folder.  She slapped it up onto the chest of drawers on which our fish tank was situated.

She fixed me with that hard stare again.  “Doubtless,” she began.  “You’re very much wondering by now, why I shrunk you.”

I could only sit there and nod dumbly up at her.  Those eyes, they were like augers – blue ice that could chip stone with their stare.

“Not the how of it, any longer,” she continued.  “But why I did it to you.”

I did have a good idea how.  Well, not how she had done it.  I have no idea what kinds of chemical concoction she had used, or if it was technology or simply magic.  I had begun to accept the fact that I was shrunk, she had done it, and I had a pretty good idea why.

I was puzzled by one thing, though.  Mary could have sued for a divorce.  Hell, she could have killed me, and likely gotten away with it, too.  Well, modern forensics might have nailed her with the rap, but she was so rich and powerful and so well connected in government circles, that it didn’t take much of a leap to imagine her walking away from such a charge.  In a divorce, she would have gotten everything.  The proof she obviously had of my infidelity assured it.  She had, after all, known exactly where I was, and that I was with my extra-marital mistress.  She wouldn’t even need to see an attorney.  One phone call, a few faxed pictures, and I would have been sent off, humiiated and penniless.

So yes, why then the shrinking?

Apparently having seen the question in my terrified eyes, Mary gave me a small, lopsided grin.  Then she fished into the manila folder and brought out a stack of photos.  Setting the briefcase out of her lap, she squared the photos in her lap and selected one.

This, she then slapped against the front of the fish tank.

And there I was, with Jess.  Jess on her stomach, and me going at the soles of her feet like a loyal hound, tongue clearly visible in the photo, leaving a glistening trail up Jess’s cutely arched right sole.  I was kneeling on a hotel room bed over Jess’s feet, me naked, my penis plainly erect.  Jess, for her part, was smiling back at me indulgently.

My face catching fire, I feeling completely humiliated, I looked away.

Mary took the picture away and slapped another in its place.

There I was, on a hotel room’s floor, my hands handcuffed behind my back, me lying on my back, with Jess standing barefoot in my face.

Again, I was naked.  And once again, my penis was plainly erect in the photo.

Mary’s smirk deepened.

“Figuring it out yet?” she asked coolly.

I could only look away, humiliated, fully disgusted with myself for being caught in such an act, and angry at Mary for shoving the evidence of my infidelities in my face like this.  And my foot fetish in my face like this!

Mary took the picture away.

“There are a couple dozen more like this,” she stated.  “But I think I’ve made the point.”

Squaring the photos again, she slid them back in the manila folder then sat back, resting her hands in her lap.

She stared at me.  “Well?  Have anything to say for yourself?” she asked.

I got slowly to my feet.  My face was as hot as the sun.  My fists were bunched at my sides, outraged.  Not able to meet those cool, vindictive eyes, I shouted, “Goddammit, Mary!  You knew I had a foot fetish!”

I worked up the courage to meet her eyes.  When I did, I wished I hadn’t.  Hers were so cold, so full of self-justified hostility and cold, calculating certainty, that I felt my bowels loosening.

I immediately looked down again.  “But you thought it was weird,” I went on, my words a mumble.  “Your final word on the subject in fact was, ‘What the fuck could anybody like about a woman’s stinky feet!’.”

She scoffed.

Rage bubbled up in me like a cauldron left on the boil for too long.  Too many years of doing without with this horrid woman.  Doing my best to satisfy all of her smallest whims, but getting nothing for it but scorn, ridicule and dismissiveness towards my needs!

“Fuck you!” I railed!  “For years, Mary, years, I put up with your tyrannical bullshit!  I did everything you ever asked!  I took out your fucking dry cleaning, cooked your meals for you, and had what you called sex with you!  But for what?!”

I was quivering now, on a roll.  Whatever she was going to do, she had already decided to do it.  This was just her having a moment of gloating over me, before she went through with what she intended.

“When you were home, I got to do what you wanted!  Went to all those stupid  plays you wanted to go to, hung out with all of your dry, socialite friends!  But when I wanted something, it was scoff and I’d get to bottle it up and hope one day you’d feel kindly disposed enough!”

I paused there, sputtering, momentarily unable to go on, fully in the grip of my tirade.

Mary only raised a pretty brow, waiting for me to continue.

“You fucking bitch!” I burst out then, so angry I was shaking, tears running down my cheeks in my anger and outrage.

“Sex with you had become something dead and mechanical, just something I was required to perform!  I fucking needed an outlet, Mary!”

I was winding up to a truly magnificent torrent, my rage propelling a sense of relief, me at long last able to work up the fury to let all of this out at her.

“SHE provided it!” I raged, spittle flying from my lips, my arm jerking towards the unconscious Jess.  “YES, I have a foot fetish!  Yes, I was in need of someone who cared about what I needed!  Yes, I fucking cheated on you to get it!”

Mary’s only response was to smile.

I stood there shaking with so much fury, that I thought I was about to break a tooth.

“Well,” Mary finally said.  “One can’t blame one, one supposes.”

I blinked, a big part me going “Uh oh.  Where was this leading to?”

“I have been a bit of a bitch,” she admitted, even sighing with a lack of theatrics, almost genuinely even.

I felt my insides turn to jelly.

She smiled at me.  I felt my knees nearly give way.  There was a horror in that smile, what I knew to soon be my horror, reflected in them.

“You do have your little fetishes.  And I have been remiss in helping you explore them.”

Her hair was once again hiding her face, she going through the pictures again.  She pulled one out.  “I just had no idea how important it was to you.”

She flicked her eyes up to me and fixed me with a cruel smile.  She turned the picture.  It was another of Jess standing barefoot in my face, but one of me actually jerking off this time.

I quailed, my anger dying in a whole new wave of humiliation.

Just then, Jess started to stir.

Mary’s eyes flicked to her.  And then she rose.  She looked down at me.  “Well, now that I know how important it is to you, I am going to start providing...”  She broke off there, an amused thought making her eye me in that cruel way again.

“No.  I am going to start indulging you.”

Suddenly her huge hand was reaching into the tank.  Jess, having come awake enough to hear Mary’s last words, looked up in time to see my wife’s huge, perfectly manicured fingers reaching for her.

She screamed.

I thought to leap forward to grab Mary’s hand, to bite it to save Jess, to plead with Mary, but I knew nothing I did would alter this cruel woman’s intentions in the slightest bit.  If anything, I would only succeed in angering Mary further, and thereby give her an excuse to hurt Jess more.

“Please don’t hurt her,” I croaked, taking a step back from Mary’s giant fingers.

Jess fought the fingers, screaming my name, but Mary’s huge hand closed around her.  Squeezing her in her hand, Mary shook a few clinging blue pebbles from in between her fingers and hauled Jess, kicking and screaming, out of the tank.

I felt like an utter coward.  A completely helpless and utterly terrified coward, but a horrid little coward very much nonetheless.

“Why not? Mary asked in a mocking voice.  “You don’t need her anymore, not with a wife who understands now, and who is ready to indulge your every whim.  What is she to you, now that you have me and MY feet to play with?”

Mary turned Jess’s flailing legs up towards her.  Then reaching into her pocket with her other hand, she produced a syringe, and without a blink, jabbed it into Jess’s backside and pressed the bolus into her with a perfectly manicured thumb.

I screamed!  “No!”

With a gagging scream that far too swiftly strangled down into a sound of barely-audible piping, Jess vanished in Mary’s huge hand.

Then Mary opened her hand.

Smaller than a robin’s egg now, Jess’s naked form plummeted out of Mary’s fingers.

I slammed against the fish tank’s glass, struggling to see.

Jess’s small body hit the carpet.  But being too light for gravity to have much pull on her, Jess bounced on the carpet’s luxuriant fibers without harm.

Mary lifted her stiletto-shod foot, passing it over Jess’s small form.

I screamed again, this time a wordless wail for Mary to please not do this thing.

Mary gave me her cruelest smirk yet, then stomped her foot down on Jess, hard.

There was scream.  It cut off with the smallest imaginable crunch.  Mary twisted her foot back and forth.  I vomited against the glass of my prison.