I'm standing on Cheryl's kitchen table in my soiled, grimy clothes. I've just spent a week and a half in the drawer of her daughter, Kim. That's a week and a half of no bathing, of pissing and crapping in the corner, and of wearing clothes that still stink of the toilet. In that time, Kim barely fed me, and only occasionally remembered to give me water.
And when I wasn't trapped in the drawer, I spent my time being either petted or tormented, depending on if Kim was feeling manic or depressive at the time. Ah, the joys of a bipolar captor.
But now, Cheryl has me. She sits at the table, watching me devour a piece of torn bread. When I'm finished, she tears another corner off of the slice she's holding and hands it to me.
"Poor baby," she says. "I can't believe my daughter's had you this whole time."
I nod and swallow a mouthful of bread. "It's been hell," I tell Cheryl, looking up into her enormous face.
Cheryl shakes her head sadly. "Kim didn't take very good care of you, did she?"
"Not really." I finish the bread and her massive fingers are suddenly in my face, proffering another piece, pinched between the pink, shield-like nails of her finger and thumb. I take it, even though I'm really not very hungry anymore. The bread I've eaten sits in the pit of my belly like mud.
"Well, you don't have to worry about anything, sweetie," she says, extending her finger to gently stroke me. As much as I want to pull away, I force myself to remain still. No point in pissing her off unnecessarily. The tip of her finger, still smelling of bread, touches my chest and traces a line down my stomach. She pokes me once, playfully, between the legs and giggles as I stagger backwards.
I finally work up the nerve to ask the question that's been on my mind since she found me. "Um, you are going to take me home, aren't you Cheryl?"
"Of course, sweetie," she says, dismissing the idiocy of my question with the tone of her voice. It's the grating, sweet voice of a mother reassuring her infant child. "But I can't tonight. Naomi said they were driving down to Tyler this weekend to see your daddy's folks and pick up Nicole. They won't be back until sometime Sunday."
"Oh," I answer with a sigh.
"So I guess you'll be sleeping with me tonight." She winks at me, as if sharing a joke. "You don't mind, do you?"
My stomach knots and I have to swallow hard to keep the bread from coming back up. She moves her face in close, letting it loom inches from me. I let out an involuntary whimper from the sheer, frightening closeness of her.
"I said, you don't mind, do you?" she repeats, her words sharp and menacing. I shake my head and mumble, "No ma'am."
I stare at the vast cavern of her mouth, unable to take in the sheer enormity of her in so close a space. Her tongue, wet and pink, occasionally darts out past her nicotine-stained teeth to lick her red and sticky lips. Her breath is warm and damp, and stinks of the now-familiar smell of wine and cigarettes.
"Good boy," she says, her raspy voice rumbling in my ears. She sniffs once, twice, then moves away from me, waving her hand in front of her nose theatrically.
"The first thing we should do is get you out of those nasty clothes and get you cleaned up," she says, reaching for me with her thumb and finger. She hooks me under my arms and lifts me up to her face. "Why don't we go take a bath?"
The water roars into the tub, filling the air with steam. The mirror behind me is already fogging up, and my hair is already damp from the humidity.
I'm standing on Cheryl's vanity, watching with great trepidation as she prepares the bath. She sits on the edge of the large marble tub, still dressed, testing the water with her hand. She glances over at me and grins. "This is gonna feel nice," she says, kicking off her sandals.
She studies the myriad bottles that are stacked against the wall on the tub's corner, finally selecting a clear one half full of pink liquid. She takes off the cap and sniffs the bottle, then looks at me and nods with a contented sigh. She upturns the bottle and pours the pink bath oil into the churning water.
"Go ahead and get undressed, Ray," she tells me. She stands up and unfastens her shorts, letting them fall to the floor. She glares at me as she unbuttons her shirt. "Now," she snaps, glaring at me.
I peel off my shirt, pants, and underwear and hold them in front of me. Cheryl watches this and giggles at my last ditch attempt at modesty. Wearing nothing but her panties, she approaches. Her breasts are small and sag slightly. They're as obnoxiously tan as the rest of her, with large dark nipples.
"Now, now," she chides me, snatching my clothes from me and exposing me. "None of that, silly." She looks at my dirty garments with obvious distaste, then carries them out of sight around the corner. I hear the toilet flush. Cheryl comes walking back over to me, brushing off her hands and giggling.
"What am I going to wear?" I ask her, shouting to be heard over the roaring water. The bubbles are already up to the rim of the tub.
"I think you're fine like you are," she says. "If you get cold, just let me know."
Cheryl slides off her panties and stands before me, completely nude. Her flesh is tan and leathery all over, the result of frequent visits to tanning beds. Not firm but not fat, it's a body that has valiantly struggled against drinking, smoking, and middle age. A small, silvery scar runs along her soft tummy, the result of an appendectomy. I don't realize I'm staring until my eyes fall on the thatch of dark hair between her legs. I jerk my head away, my face flushing as Cheryl brays laughter.
"What do you think?" she asks me. "Not bad for an old woman, huh?" I keep my eyes averted, even when I hear her turn and walk away. The pounding crash of water ends with the turn of a squeaky knob, and my ears pound in the sudden silence. There's nothing but the splashing of water and the soft whisper of bubbles. The smell of lavender hangs in the soggy air.
And the sound of her bare feet on the tile floor. Cheryl scoops me up into her hand and cradles me to the bare flesh of her stomach, just under her breasts. Beads of sweat run down her front, giving her skin a damp feel and salty smell.
Her fingers wrap around me, gripping me tightly as she steps into the tub. She sucks in a breath through gritted teeth as her foot sinks into the hot water, then lets out a contented sigh as the temperature becomes bearable.
She sets me down on the edge of the tub, next to the bottles of shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and bath oil. The bottles tower above me, multi-colored and oddly shaped. The marble is cool beneath my bare feet, and comfortingly solid. I back away from her hand and watch her place her other foot in the tub. The bubbles writhe and undulate with her movement, some breaking loose and drifting away.
"Oh, yeah," Cheryl moans happily as she lowers herself into the hot, soapy water. She slides down into the tub until only her head and neck show above the bubbles. She lets out another sigh and leans back. After about a minute, she opens her eyes and regards me from the far end of the tub.
The faucet, fake gold and pearl, juts from the wall behind me and to my right. Like every other reflective surface in the bathroom, it's fogged over and covered with tiny beads of water. The occasional drop falls from the spigot, striking the bubbles and making them hiss.
Cheryl closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, and I watch her head sink down below the bubbles. A few seconds later, she comes back up, wiping the foam from her face. She grins at me, her dark hair hanging wet and dripping.
"You ready to join me?" she asks. Her foot slides up the side of the tub, breaking through the mountain of suds. Her toes wiggle playfully as they rise above the edge, flinging bubbles and water on me.
"Come on, sweetie," she croaks, spreading her toes for me. "Don't be shy." God, I hate her so much. But just the nearness of her massive foot mashes a button in me that I just can't seem to bury. I step forward and press myself between her big and second toe. Her foot is so incredibly warm, and slippery with bath oil and soap. The feel of her skin slipping against mine is unfortunately erotic.
I peer down the length of her leg until it vanishes into the suds. Then, past the rippling surface of white, into her smirking face. She wiggles her toes, grinding her warm, slick flesh against my naked body. I writhe and let out an involuntary moan as my pelvis bumps against the bottom of her foot.
She smiles her predatory smile at me. "Whatcha doing, sweetie?" she teases me. "Are you getting you some foot?"
I'm drenched with sweat and bathwater, and every muscle in my body is clenched and tingling. I'm gasping rhythmically with the throbbing of my erection as her toes grind relentlessly away at me.
"You like that? You like my big ol' sexy toes?"
I finally come in a fierce, explosive spasm. I actually scream out something unintelligible at the moment of climax, then collapse. I hang there between her toes, my heart pounding, my face pressed to the hot, wet flesh of her foot. I'm gasping, unable to even catch my breath.
Her foot moves quickly through the air, yanking me along. I cry out weakly as she raises her leg and crosses it, bringing her ankle to rest on her bent knee. Her hand approaches and gently pulls me from between her toes, lingering just long enough to rub me once along the sole of her foot.
Then, both legs submerge below the bubbles. Cheryl sighs and reclines as she holds me in front of her face.
"Did you like that?" she asks me, and I nod, exhausted. I'm still worn out from my ordeal with Kim, and right now all I want to do is sleep.
Her other hand snakes up out of the bubble bath. She extends a soapy index finger, rubbing my chest and back with her lathered fingertip. She flicks my limp penis with her pink fingernail, and laughs when I let out a gasp.
"Okay, you selfish little thing," she says playfully, setting me down on her submerged breast. She raises up slightly, bringing her nipples just above the surface. "My turn."
On my hands and knees, I turn around and crawl towards her nipple, which protrudes like a brown rock. The areola that surrounds it is dark as well, and covered with dozens of tiny bumps and a few fine hairs. I run my hand along the bumps, then eventually to the nipple itself. The flesh is thick and leathery to the touch. Cheryl lets out a soft moan, and shifts slightly beneath me. I lie flat on her breast, keeping my other arm outstretched to keep myself steady.
Images of Suzy flit through my mind, unbidden. I try to drive them away, feeling inexplicable shame at conjuring her face at a time like this. If she could see me, see what I've been reduced to...
It's just that this encounter with Cheryl seems like a cruel parody of the date I had with Suzy. I remember admitting to her that I had a thing for feet, and she responded by bringing me to orgasm with her beautiful toes. I responded by making my way to her breast and stroking her nipple until she...
Well, let's just say it was good for her, too.
But this, with Cheryl, just seems sick and wrong. There's nothing sweet or romantic about it. My lust is purely involuntary and her passion is tainted by a desire to dominate me. And it scares me, because it seems to be progressing. Without Naomi around to keep her in check, there's no limit to the degradation she can heap on me.
And in spite of what she says, I don't think she has any intention of taking me back to the Daltons.
So what am I going to do? I honestly don't know right now. I'm so exhausted I can hardly move, and just the thought of being Cheryl's prisoner or plaything fills me with a soul-wearying despair. Every plan I've come up with so far has backfired, and left me in a worse situation than when I started.
But I've got to keep trying. If I'm going to die under Cheryl's foot, it's going to be while I'm escaping.
So my plan right now is to endure Cheryl's games for the rest of the evening, until I can finally get some sleep. And then, when I'm rested and thinking clearly, I'll concentrate on getting the hell out of here.
Cheryl shifts and sighs again. "That's a good boy," she whispers as her hands slide underwater with a faint splash. A few seconds later, she lets out a moan as she pleasures herself beneath the white, rippling surface of the bubbles.
The front door opens and slams shut while Cheryl is toweling me off, and she gives a low, mean chuckle. "Kim's home," she says, smiling down at me. "She's gonna lose her mind when she finds you gone."
She sets me on the vanity, then sets to drying herself off. She makes a big production of rubbing the towel along her leg, then dabbing between her toes. She glances at me and winks when she sees me watching. "What's the matter, sweetie? You ready to get yourself some more foot?"
I'm spared the indignity of an answer by a sudden pounding on the bathroom door. "Mom," Kim calls anxiously. "Have you been in my room?"
Cheryl gives me a wink, then says, "No, sweetheart. Why? Is something wrong?"
Kim doesn't answer for a few seconds. Then finally, she says, "No, nothing," and hurries off. And in spite of everything she's done to me, I actually feel a little sorry for her.
It's late, close to 11:00, and Cheryl still won't let me sleep. She sits up in her bed, propped up by a huge stack of pillows. She is naked, lounging on top of the sheet. Her bathrobe is draped over a chair and the bedspread lies in a wad at the foot of the bed.
She sits with her knees bent and her feet flat on the bed. And right now, I'm kneeling in front of her left foot, kissing her toes. In a few minutes, she'll order me to her other foot and I'll do the same. I've been doing this for about half an hour now.
She's barely paying any attention to me, except to pinch at me with her toes when she senses I'm slowing down in my efforts. She stares past me at the television, where Jay Leno is interviewing Sean Connery.
"He's so sexy," Cheryl says, flexing her toes and giggling when I stumble backwards. "I'd like to get him where you are."
"Yeah, me too," I mutter, my voice ragged with fatigue.
"Oh, stop it," she scolds me, grasping me with her toes. "You know you're loving every minute of this."
I sigh. "What is today, anyway?"
"It's Friday, sweetie," she says, then squeezes her toes together playfully. "Why? You got somewhere to be?"
I wait for her to loosen her grip, then I shake my head. "No, I just lost track of time when Kim had me. So, Paul and Naomi both went to Tyler for the weekend?"
"That's right," she says, releasing me and dropping me onto the bed. "Now knock off all the questions and get back to kissing."
"So, they just went off and left the GenetiTech people at their house?"
Cheryl crosses her legs under her so she can lean forward. "What?"
"It's just, I heard that the people from GenetiTech had set up some kind of base of operations at Paul and Naomi's house to look for me. And since I'm still missing, I assume they're still there. So it seems kind of weird that Paul and Naomi would both go away for the weekend."
Cheryl stares at me for about ten seconds, then laughs. "Okay, you smart little shit, you got me," she says, snatching me up roughly. "Your momma and daddy are home. Paul's folks are gonna drive Nicole home day after tomorrow."
I sigh. "You're not going to tell them you found me, are you?"
She lets out a wounded grunt. "Of course I am, sweetie. I'll call Naomi tomorrow." She grins sheepishly, and adds, "I just wanted you for a night."
I must still look doubtful, because she adds, "Really!" Then, still smiling, she drops me back on the bed and extends her bare toes. "Now, get back to what you were doing."
Cheryl made me a bed in a shoebox ("Just in case you get any ideas about running off while I'm asleep"). Actually, "bed" might be a bit of a stretch. Cheryl took the panties she wore today, wadded them up, and stuck them in the shoebox for me to sleep on.
Now I'm lying here in her dark bedroom, exhausted beyond reckoning, but unable to sleep. Part of it is from the musty, sweaty smell of my sleeping quarters; even with the lid off, it's still pretty stale in here. Part of it is from Cheryl's snoring, a grating death rattle that has to be experienced to be believed.
But most of it is my stupid brain, which refuses to turn itself off and sleep. I know she has no intention of giving me back to Naomi. So I'm trying to figure out why she would lie to me. I'm completely at her mercy, and we both know it. There's no reason for her to mislead me unless she simply wants to give me hope.
And why would she want to give me hope, unless she just wants to take it away?
Giantess World
Homunculus by Cayce