“What about these?” Carly questions as she jabs her enormous thumb gently at the back of your shrunken scalp, burrowing your face even deeper into the black, squishy terrain of her current favorite basketball trainers until your senses are fully ensconced with that familiar rancid, feminine musk.

            The dark fuzz of the trampled environment snags between your teeth as you gulp up a powerful whiff, filling your lungs to capacity with the absolute stinging effluvium of your gigantic sister’s athletic wear. That spicy zest of her omnipresent sweat, coiled around the memory of her preferred brand of strawberry lotion, clouds your sinuses, and you feel your body attempting to cough, but you don’t let it. Instead you exhale and suck up a new breath. Savoring it like wine. Or at least, how you imagine people savor wine.

            “Well?” the girl queries. Her fingers stroke along your back as she holds you into the shadowy hovel of her left shoe. “These have to smell worse than the Uggs.”

            She’s got a good point. As thick and hot as the Uggs get, cooking Carly’s powerful tanned peds to a very precise degree such that the fur lining now reeks just as potently as their source, this is stronger. And why wouldn’t it be? These puppies have been there through drills, suicide sprints, and buzzer-beaters, sopping up moisture by the gallon leached from her taut and equally-worn socks.

            Just be to sure, though, your tongue darts out of your lips, sampling the mushy ground still bearing the pounded insignia of Carly’s massive instep. Booming laughter rebounds off the padded insole as the girl’s fingers coil back around you, collecting your body into her palm as she snatches you out and sets you back on the carpet of her college dorm floor.

            “That seemed like more than a sniff,” she says as she reclines back upon the floor just before the closet wherein she stores all of her hallowed footwear, into which you’ve spent the past thirty minutes spelunking and offering sensory opinions for your sister’s amusement as well as scientific knowledge.

            Of course, the vast majority of these fashionable options you’ve spent at least some time in before, usually while Carly’s writhing, sweaty toes grapple with your naked body for company. So much so, in fact, that for most of the items, you’ve got a fairly well-formed idea already of how they smell, taste, feel on your skin, and just how intense the heat can get.

            However, this is the first time you’ve sat down together and had a frank discussion about the objective quality inside each pleasure-prison. It’s bizarre like little else you’ve experienced in this already macabre misadventure of a life to be willfully sampling each and every humongous shoe and explaining the results to your delighted sibling, all so both of you will get exactly what you want in the very near future. No games, no torment, no trickery. Just a girl and her shrunken slave debating how best to keep him intimately close with the lowest part of her body, experiencing precisely what she wants him to.

            Certainly things have been different in the two weeks since Sophie very nearly ended your intended lifelong worship of your enormous sister. Now that you’re back on campus for the spring semester, though, and finally, definitively alone with Carly for the first time since the earth-breaking revelation the pair of you reached on that day, it’s becoming clear just how much different.

            “Jack?” Carly murmurs. “Giving sissy’s shoes a taste, huh?”

            “Uh-huh,” you agree dryly, thrust into the present again. Admittedly your attentions are diverted to the environment directly in front of you.

            Carly’s nearly six-foot frame is sprawled out on the carpet, supported up on her elbows now behind her back. Her legs are stretched toward the opening of the closet, her bare feet crested comfortably on their sides, her alabaster-rose soles continually wrinkling for your entertainment. Even rested on their sides, each of the girl’s legendary peds is taller than you, and they never fail to arrest. You can feel your member perking to life already.

            “You’re such a horny dork, aren’t you?” the girl chuckles, shaking her head as she drinks in your befuddled reaction. She scrunches her toes cutely above. “You just can’t get enough of me.”

            “Guilty as charged.”

            “Uh-huh,” she replies, raising an eyebrow. “Save some of that energy for later. You’re not even inside the shoe yet. And it’s gonna be an awfully sad afternoon if I don’t feel you humping my toes from time to time.”

            “I can still do it!” you declare proudly.

            “Oh?” she smarms, a smirk on her lips. “Maybe you could a little bit, but I like to be able to feel you down there. You know how happy that makes me. And I know you want to make me happy, right?”

            “Y-Yes,” you state. “But I can do it. Promise.”

            “We’ll see about that,” your younger sister says, though a knowing grin curves the corners of her lips again. She taps an index finger at the edge of her mouth, flipping the plushest section of her lip up and down. “Don’t forget I’m probably gonna get bored during class and use you for a little flexor exercise. Coach says I need to be doing more quick endurance training on my calves anyway.”

            “No you don’t,” you mumble, your eyes drifting up the tremendous length of your sibling’s limbs and to the bulbous, angelically-carved calf muscles bulging beneath the bronzed skin. You can feel the saliva pooling in the base of your mouth. She hasn’t asked you to massage them in a long time.

            “Oh, you little charmer, you,” Carly giggles, narrowing her eyes playfully. She tightens the mighty pillars of her sprawling legs, and you watch the rock-hard muscle beneath rippling in a stark pattern up and down her thighs and shins. It’s like witnessing accelerated terraforming. No, scratch that. It’s better. Much better. “You know just what to say to a girl, don’t you? Too bad I’m the only one you’re ever going to have chance to use it on.”

            “No it’s not,” you say earnestly, and you’d swear you can see a twinkle in Carly’s eyes pass over as she appreciates the genuine feeling in your tone. She sighs longingly, tilting her head at an angle and letting her dishwater-golden locks cascade messily over her shoulder.

            “Well, one of us has to stay nice and strong around here,” she continues with a sultry wink and another mesmerizing clenching effect down the length of both legs simultaneously.

            All you can do is watch in awe as the fleshy canyon in which you find yourself upon the carpet, flanked on either side by those creamy, flexing soles. Having her as your amazonian princess, muscled enough for the both of you and then some, gives you immense comfort, where once it put your soul on the brink of extinction from fear.

            “Don’t get too distracted yet, you cute little perv,” Carly teases, tsking at you and waggling a finger as she leans back forward. “You’re lucky I’m so generous with these pretties, or I’d have to get you back for ogling me, you know?”

            “Sorry,” you mutter, quickly averting your gaze down to the secondhand fibers of the carpet. It doesn’t pay to get too cocky, even if you can tell how much your sister adores this newly playful attitude of yours.

            Carly unleashes another little giggle. You know she doesn’t really take offense to you lusting after her prodigious body parts, but that doesn’t make it any less life-affirming to hear that commanding tone take over her singsong timbre like you know so well. The way that throaty laugh of hers echoes off esophagus practically gets your loins stirring anew.

            “That’s a good boy. My good little boy toy,” she whispers. “Now close your eyes.”

            Gratefully, you place yourself back into darkness, feeling utter security, despite being as vulnerable right now as could be humanly possible as you stand, sightless, naked, and three inches tall between a pair of buckling bare basketball feet.

            Just as you’d hoped, to the chorus of Carly’s snickering, you’re tackled backward by two bum-rushing masses of grooved flesh. Your sister’s titanic toes clench you into the fleshy crevice and lift you easier than a packing peanut off the carpet, lithely reaching back into the closet with you on the end of her leg.

            “Keep them closed,” your sister instructs softly as she carries you delicately over the mouth of a new shoe and finally parts her toes, releasing you into the spongy darkness.

            You land softly on the meshy insole, rolling into the center as you collect your senses and take in the first few huffs of the acrid, luscious air scented of the frilly body odor of your personal goddess.

            “Which one are you inside now?” you hear her chuckle from beyond. “Remember. No peeking until I say so.”

            “Okay,” you mumble. No sense in hesitating. Bowing your head, you press your nose and mouth into the fabric and begin inhaling like the foot detective you are.

            The scent is fainter than the others you’ve sampled, so clearly it’s a pair of shoes Carly doesn’t wear too often. Some of the others, especially her sandals and athletic shoes, you could’ve recognized within a few seconds of having your face mashed into the oily insole, given how frequently she wears them. The potency is low enough that you can’t help but assume your sister usually wears this particular item with socks on, rather than naked.

            Though so slight it’s practically a ghost, you can detect a chemical scent of some kind: polish, probably. Carly doesn’t take so much pride in her footwear that she’s constantly cleaning and revamping them with product, so you have to guess it’s something that was already there.

            “M-Mary Janes?” you question quietly, your eyes still clenched shut.

            “Ohhh you’re good at this game, aren’t you?” Carly congratulates, and suddenly you can feel the steam of her breath wafting against your neck as she leans in to peer inside the shoe at you. Batting your eyes back open, your suspicion is confirmed as you realize you’re housed in the black buckled shoe that your titanic sibling only wears on the rarest occasions for church.

            “Uh-huh,” you agree, happy as a clam to have pleased her.

            “Well?” she drawls. “Aren’t you going to taste this one, too?”

            “Uh-huh.” Your repeated syllables are drowned out as you practically bruise your nose on the rapid descent back into the white insole. Jamming your tiny tongue against the branded material, you slake a thin line along the threaded fabric, summoning up whatever long-dormant molecules of grit and foot sweat might’ve melted into it. Your stomach gurgles at the promise of more nourishment, as does your libido.

            “Lick harder.” The voice comes from the void beyond the shoe, of course, but for all the warmth and lustful invitation of it, Carly’s voice seems to have gnawed its way inside your skull.

            “Y-Yes,” you mumble through a mouthful of shoe fabric.

            “Yes, what?”

            “Yes, big sissy,” you muster.

            “Good boy toy,” she repeats with tingling ambrosia.