Scott was more than relieved, an hour into this visit, to find that things could be much worse. Certainly there were more comfortable positions to be in, but he was making do.

            Sylvia had taken him almost straight away to her office in the basement of the house, which had a cheerful view of the trees out above her work space beyond the glass, a view which Scott was unable to experience as he was deposited onto a pillow laid beneath the desk. He hardly had time to roll onto his back before the middle aged woman’s plump bare feet were fighting each other for space on the boy’s body. Eventually a compromise was reached, where the toes of one foot took to idly grasping and playfully flexing against his head, with the warm ball of her foot slumped against his chest, while the sole of the other ped was splayed square across his stomach and hips. Her instep rolled casually back and forth down against his crotch, creating more than a little friction, especially after it kept up for more than a few minutes at just the right amount of gentle pressure that Scott’s deprived body was getting the tingles in some unfortunate zones.

            Still, the pillow was a thoughtful touch. Most people didn’t think to put down a pillow.

            Her skin was surprisingly soft today, with a velvety texture that reminded Scott of newly frozen ice cream, as did the sweet scent of artificial grapes and peonies. Her toes were as exploratory and friendly as last time, poking and prodding at his cheeks, running the grooves of her toeprints dangerously near his lips, but she didn’t go in for the chokehold that so often happened when the owner of dexterous digits toyed with him for long enough; most giants, upon discovering their new power, often experimented with this hold. His tiny neck was an easy target.

            The pressure of both Sylvia’s feet in tandem was strong, certainly, but not unbearable, and in fact the pillow below was plush enough to take some of the weight of her creamy peds. All things considered, there were worse people who could be standing on him.

            And many of them had.

            “Whew,” Sylvia sighed. The incessant tapping of her laptop keyboard above had stopped for the first time in the last hour. “That was a pain the patootie, you know what I mean, hon? Work, work, work.”

            “Yeah, I do,” he said, wrestling to shift her toes aside from his head well enough to answer.

            “Of course, work does seem to go a lot faster and smoother when I’ve got you around. You must be like a little good luck charm,” she remarked, her head cocked. She tucked her black locks behind her ear as she stared down at him, trapped in the fabric hill of the pillow beneath her twin soles.

            “I’ve got that effect on people,” Scott said, working hard not to sound sarcastic. It was tricky.

            “I’m sure you do,” Sylvia continued. By the smirk on her lips, she seemed to accept that he was genuine. She’d slid a few inches further away from the edge of the desk on her wheeled swivel chair, but kept both feet firmly in place upon her rental boy. A frown etched into her forehead. “You’re looking a little warm down there, sweetie-pie.”

            Scott pressed the back of his hand to his cheeks. They were indeed warm, courtesy of all the toes crowded around his head, not to mention the comparative tons of foot-mass piled onto his person. There wasn’t much cool air to be had down here.

            “Yeah.”

            “Well, don’t feel you have to be uncomfortable on my account. You’re doing me a huge favor, after all. Go ahead and lose some of the drapings.”

            “You… mean my shirt?”

            “If that’s all that’s warming you up,” Sylvia replied languidly. She rested her chin in her fingers, winking at him. “Wouldn’t bother me in the slightest, hon. I lived out in the country for most of my life. In summers like this, we’d walk around at least half open to the sun.”

            “I see,” Scott said. She’d already seen him like that, after all, albeit when he was just small enough that his finer details were a little harder to make out. And he was here to make a good impression, both because Judy demanded it of him for her political advancement, and because he had a feeling there were only useful things to come from getting on Sylvia’s good side, whatever it was she had that Judy wanted.

            In the back of his mind, the young man noted that it would be nice to live in a reality where he wasn’t regularly hit on by giant forty-something women stricken with almost pubescent lust. Then again, he didn’t get to choose his reality.

            “Go on,” Sylvia encouraged, gently waving her hand. “Nothin’ under there’s gonna shock me, hon. Honest-to-God. That is, if you want to.”

            “Sure, sure,” Scott said. Easy enough to believe.

            He laid his hands to the side as Sylvia’s looming bare feet finally dragged themselves off of his body, giving him room to disrobe. His shirt was tugged over his head and thrown aside, leaving him only in his shorts. It was so foolish to have believed this outing would stay PG-13. This was one of his mother’s friends, after all, even if she was new, and even if she was ostensibly giving him a choice.

            Sylvia raised an eyebrow. “That can’t feel that much better, hon. You sure? C’mon.”

            “Maybe not.”

            “Lay back,” she instructed, leaning against the back of her chair and knitting her fingers together across her stomach as she reclined. The seat creaked softly. “It’ll be a nice little challenge for me.”

            Getting more into the groove now, Scott resolved to more fully embrace that shrunken gigolo destiny he’d ironically foreseen for himself. He flopped back against the pillow, even laying his hands above his head, inviting the woman back to his shirtless form.

            Sylvia’s peds were only too happy to comply. Her toes flared out as they lowered back onto their target. Those digits, bulbous as they were, managed to worm their way in under the beltline of his shorts, giving her a firm grip, while the other foot was anchored against his shins, keeping him in place as she delicately yanked the pants down to Scott’s ankles. The underwear, the only remaining barrier afterward, was even more easily removed as Sylvia hooked her toe into the front and slid it down his thighs.

            Her warm toe brushed hard along the shaft of his member as she went.

            “There we go…” Sylvia crooned, smiling broadly at the sight of her handiwork below. Her feet rested back in their previous positions, her left one leaned liberally against Scott’s naked junk until his dick was molded into her doughy sole. “Bet that little girlfriend of yours can’t do that, can she?”

            “Probably not,” Scott breathed. He was beginning to get a serious case of déjà vu from this whole affair, back to a particular day one year before when he was left alone in the poolhouse with Nancy. The proceedings held a sickening similarity, if only different in the approach of his gigantic admirers. And this time, his mother wasn’t even remotely on his side.

            Scott gritted his teeth. Whatever was happening with this woman, whatever she wanted, whatever it was, he realized he was probably prepared to deliver. It made him more than a little sad to realize, yet also strangely empowered.

            He knew getting an upper hand on Judy was never going to be easy.

            Pleasantly enough, though, compared to where his mind had instantly leapt, Scott found he was “treated” to another full-body massage. Of course, this time with everything displayed and ripe for caressing by Sylvia’s playfully curling toes. Scott couldn’t even guilt himself when he felt his member stiffening against the length of the woman’s mature though considerably more lotioned sole since last time. Her big and second toes occupied themselves above his face, occasionally toying with the young man’s hair, but not doing much other than offering a window above as she returned to her work.

            Hoping not to jinx himself, Scott prayed that Nancy hadn’t been too vocal about his accidental tonguing of her toes during the coffee hour, in case Sylvia decided she had a similar curiosity. Not necessarily out of revulsion at the idea itself, but because Scott knew if she requested it, out of his desperation to find or hear the tiniest whisper of an advantage over his mother, he’d have his lips on the gritty underside of this woman’s big toe before she even finished phrasing the question.

            Such a fate would be the infinitely preferable option to any other ideas Nancy may or may not have given to Sylvia. After all, it was easy to wash foot-flavor out of his cheeks after a few rounds of mouthwash and toothpaste. It was a little trickier getting the vinegary stench of advanced womanhood out of his skin.

            “Scott?”

            “Yes?”

            “I have a question for you that might sound loaded, seein’ as where you are at the current time, but I hope you could answer it honestly. Think you could try?”
            “Sure,” Scott shrugged, deciding it wasn’t quite possible for him to be any more bare underneath this woman as her toepads flicked his cheeks while her naked heel gently squashed his family jewels.

            “What do you suppose prison would’ve been like for you?” she asked.

            “You mean-”

            “If things hadn’t gone the way they’ve gone for you.”

            Scott pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, furrowing his brow. The Mother-Approved answer to this question wasn’t difficult to surmise. But maybe there was some way to jump that hoop without completely burying his principles.

            “I really don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never been to prison. But I know I was afraid of going after what happened. I know I thought my life was over.”

            That sounded good enough.

            Scott was careful not to add the sneaking sentiment that such a fate as prison just might, in hindsight, be preferable. You could count on metal bars to stay consistent; giant spindly fingers forming an impossible cage, though, were harder to predict.

            “I suppose that makes a few licks of sense,” Sylvia responded. Her foot swished in a slow sway along Scott’s bare chest, smearing her sole across his skin. “Though I imagine your current situation’s got its share of downsides, too.”

            “You can say that,” Scott said.

            What a bizarre woman. Was she really not uncomfortable having this conversation while he was exposed like this?

            “Sure I can, but I’m the one sitting up here,” Sylvia responded. “Could you say that, hon?”

            Scott bit his lip, accidentally letting his tongue flicker over the cusp of his mouth. It dotted a groove of Sylvia’s big toe, which shuddered accordingly at his incidental worship.

            “I can,” he sighed. “But I guess it’s meant to, right?”

            “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Sylvia said.

            “What makes you ask?” Scott wondered. His body tensed at this question, knowing full-well he might have already overstepped the line even to inquire after the woman’s intentions when he was really just here to provide a naked footrest.

            At this, Sylvia peeked directly down at her attendant through the fleshy valley of her toes. She brushed her black bangs away from her forehead again and, to Scott’s relief, smiled.

            “I have my fingers in a whole lot of pots, hon. I’ve talked to a lot of people on both sides of the fence. But it’s not always so easy to get an answer that I’d call mint.”

            “Um, you mean…”

            “Not everybody with similar… stature as yourself is so willing to spill any beans. Surprise, surprise. Can’t say I blame them or you.”

            “Me?”

            She smirked. Her foot arched higher over Scott’s lower torso, pinning his crotch against his waist as her instep smushed overtop his thighs. “I’ve been around the block a couple times, sugar. I know when I hear something real and when I hear something read off a crib note.”

            “Oh.”

            “You may not have a good reason to speak in this room. Maybe I make you nervous. Maybe you’d just like to keep your head down until they let you out from under your mother’s roof,” Sylvia drawled. She spread her hands wide, fingers unfurled in showmanship. “All I want you to know, hon, is that my ears are always open. Not just as a new friend, but a woman with a long reach and numbers on my speed dial that’d make you think I was playing a joke. Above all else, I like hearing the real things. Not the crib notes. I’d consider it a favor.”

            Scott couldn’t help but go a little pink, which was significant, considering where he was right now and how little he was wearing. The woman’s feet had slowed their playful pouncing at his body, giving him pause to chew over her words. He averted his gaze up through the crevice of Sylvia’s digits, instead shifting his eyes to the side, focusing intently on the spiral pattern of her toeprint. His thoughts were in overdrive, and few of them cohesive.           

            Either his mother had engineered her most complex ploy yet to test his loyalty with multiple layers of deception involving multiple parties, or he was being offered a chance to speak his mind.

            Or someone was just trying to use him for their own advancement for only the one-hundred-and-seventieth time in his life. Strictly speaking, just because someone wasn’t in his mother’s pocket, didn’t mean they were on Scott’s side, either. He knew this all too well.

            And still, as Sylvia returned idly to tapping away at her laptop as though nothing at all had been said, Scott was left holding his breath, and he doubted he’d really be able to inhale again until he understood this woman any better. He returned to his previous task of massaging her toes and digging his knees into her gigantic high arch, but was now severely distracted with a sickly hope. Whatever was going on here, it was worth keeping the worm on the hook.