I had no response this time. All of my bravado was gone. I just stared up at my now titanic mother. I couldn’t believe what she’d just done. 

Why would she do this to me? 

Was she gonna change me back? 

What!? Why did I think that!? Of course she will! But after how long? 

“I’m sorry I had to do that, baby, but you gave me no choice,” she said matter-of-factly. “You may be adopted, but I’m still your mother! And as your mother, it is my job to keep you safe. Whether you like it or not, the only way to keep you safe right now is to make sure you can’t leave.” 

“Mom, you can’t do this to me!” I shouted up at her, “This is so unfair!” 

“I’ll tell you what’s unfair, young man!” She bent down slightly and pointed her finger sternly at me. “Having an adult son who would do something as irresponsible as try to go out during a pandemic!” 

“I was just going to Rosey’s, Mom!” I yelled. “I was gonna wear a mask on the way there and everything! I would’ve been safe!” 

“Ha! I doubt the mask would’ve stayed on for much longer than that,” she chuckled dismissively. “Face-to-face contact is one of the only things you’d be doing, and one of the least-recommended things to be doing.” 

I cursed myself for not leaving more quickly. 

“Well, I don’t have to worry about that now,” my Mom giggled as she continued. “You certainly won’t be going to Rosey’s like that. Unless you were literally trying to get in her pants!” 

I glared impotently up at my Mother as she laughed at her own joke. What Rosey and I did was none of her business. 

“Oh, you know I’m just teasing,” my Mom sighed, seeing my angry face. She crossed her arms again. “Now, let me explain how things are going to be around here.” 

My blood froze. What did she mean by that? 

She began tapping her foot against the floor again. It rose and fell, the meaty slapping sound was now far more loud and ominous. 

“I obviously can’t trust you to behave yourself at normal size,” she chided. “So, for as long as this quarantine is in effect, I’ll just have to keep you as you are now.” 

The pace of my breathing quickened. 

“Oh god, no.” I thought, looking up and around at my surroundings before my gaze finally fell at my Mom’s giant feet in front of me. My new size sank in as I realized I was only as “big” as her big toe. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t! There was no way she could keep me this small! We don’t even know how long quarantine will last! 

“Mom NO!” I shouted, losing my cool. “You can’t! We don’t even know how long quarantine is going to last!” 

“Well then,” she scolded, wagging her finger. “I guess you should have thought about that before trying to do something reckless.” 

My knees buckled in fear at how nonchalant she was being. Treating the fact that she had just stripped me of all ability to function as a human being as though she’d just taken my phone away for a weekend. I was truly and utterly helpless. There was nothing I could do to stop her. This had to be a nightmare! 

“That’s not all,” my Mother continued. 

“Oh my god,” I thought. “Now what!? And why hasn’t she taken me off the ground!?” 

But even as I thought that, I looked at her manicured hands. They were normally so dainty, but now I feared their grip. 

“Shrinking you to the size of my thumb is the only way to make sure you can't leave,” she began, “but I need to make sure that I know where you are at all times. In order to do that, I must keep you on my person.” 

“Shit! I couldn’t be emasculated any further!” I thought. “Not only am I the size of a mouse, but my own mother is now going to carry me around and hold me like a pet, too!” 

“As for how I shall keep you on my person,” she said. “There aren’t many options.” 

I didn’t even want to know what they were. I just wanted this to be over! 

“I can't just hold you all the time, because I need to have my hands free,” she explained. “Most articles of clothing, such as my bra, are far too inappropriate.” 

Even in the midst of this situation, I was thankful she made that decision. If my Mom were to put me in her bra for weeks on end, I don’t think my sanity would stay intact. 

“Putting you somewhere like on my shoulder would just be too dangerous,” she continued, “and putting you in my pocket would make it so that I wouldn't be able to feel you and know that you’re ok.” 

Her pocket, my one hope for the least embarrassing version of this, had been ruled out. 

“What am I left with?” I thought. “Braided into her hair? Oh god, I hope not.” 

I thought of the ridiculous image. My mom walking around the house as a tiny, wriggling me lay against the side of her head, bound by golden ropes. 

“Oh, quit your squirming,” I imagined her saying as she tucked me behind her ear, or worse, pulled me up to bury me in a ponytail. I shuddered. 

“I could put you in my hair,” she said, almost giving me a heart attack as I thought she’d read my mind. “But that would be too precarious.” 

“Just spit it out!” I wanted to scream. “Where!?” 

“No no no,” she said, shaking her head. “There’s only one place that’s safe, appropriate, hands-free, and sensitive enough for me to feel you and know how you’re doing.” 

The anticipation was killing me. 

“As such,” my mother finally said, “for your punishment, I will be keeping you… under my feet.” 

Words couldn’t describe my absolute shame and humiliation. I couldn't believe what I had just heard. My own mother had not only shrunk me to the size of a bug, but was now telling me that I had to live under her feet! Most likely for months to come. 

"No way!" I shouted. "You can't be serious! You can't degrade me like this! That's so gross! Please don't!!!" 

"My feet are NOT gross!" My Mother shouted, stomping her foot. 

I flinched as the ground beneath me shook from the impact. 

"But in any case," she continued, "I don't care if you think being under your mother's feet is 'gross' or 'embarrassing'. You brought this on yourself, mister." 

"Please don't, Mom!" I cried. "I'll do anything. I promise I'll behave!" 

"No! This is for your own good!" She shouted. She bent over at the waist with her face parallel to the ground, directly above me, and she pointed her finger at me. "You're going under my feet until the end of quarantine, and that's FINAL!!!" 

I fell to my knees as I cowered away from her powerful, inescapable gaze. 

"But… why there?" I whimpered. "Why do I have to go… under your feet?" 

"Well, I just explained that to you, sweetheart," she cooed. She squatted on her haunches to get closer to me, her expression softening in sympathy as she saw how scared I was. "My feet are simply the most natural place for you to go." 

"But," I said, standing back up. "It's so embarrassing." 

"Why, baby?" My mother asked, rising back to her full height. "What's wrong with my feet?" 

She stood each foot on its toes, alternating from right to left, pivoting and twisting to show them to me at all angles. As she did this, she also looked down at them herself, her brow furrowed, as if examining them for flaws. 

"Nothing's wrong with them in particular," I said, growing more uncomfortable at having to explain this. "It's just that… they're your feet." 

"And?" She inquired, standing flat once more with her hands on her hips. 

"Well," I began, trying to find the right words. "Feet are the lowest part of the body, the part that you use to walk on what's beneath you. When someone's under your feet, it shows that they're beneath you, and if you put me under there, especially when I'm so small like this, it's like I'm worthless. Like I'm just a bug to be stepped on." 

As I spoke, my mother's face had a gentle, concerned look on it. By the time I finished, however, she couldn't help but burst out laughing at me. 

"Awww, babyyy," my mother cooed. "You know you're not a bug! You're just a little small right now." 

She put her hands flat on her plump thighs and bent at the knees slightly, as if explaining something to a little boy. 

"While I agree that those things are totally understandable from everything culture has taught you," she continued. "You really shouldn't read that much into it! They're just feet!" 

"But…" I trailed off as I looked back down to her feet, her toes now wiggling playfully with amusement. 

"Yes, it's true," she conceded, following my gaze to her squirming digits. "Feet are the lowest part of the body, and sometimes they can be a little dirty, and even smelly. That's why most people, like you, do find feet a little embarrassing, and pampering somebody's feet is usually seen as humbling." 

“More like humiliating and degrading,” I thought. 

"So yeah, it is fun for me to tease you with them a little," she giggled, raising her left foot slightly and scrunching its sole at me. She pouted her lips and spoke in a baby voice as she then said: "Especially when you're so small that you can't do anything about it!" 

To emphasize her point, my mother held her index finger and thumb apart so that the gap between them was the same as my current height. She grinned from ear to ear. 

"The fact that I'm your mom doesn't help either," she added. 

I looked up at her in confusion as to why she was bringing that up. 

"Yes, I know," she nodded. "When a boy is little, his mommy is his whole world, but then he hits puberty, and he starts wanting a new kind of affection from girls his own age. So, when Mom gets too close for what is now comfortable, he starts to resent her." 

I opened my mouth to speak, but Mom held up a hand to silence me. 

"Especially when it comes to discipline," she continued. "When a Mom punishes her adolescent or young adult son, it's like she's making him be a kid again when what he really wants is to be a man." 

I kept silent as she kept speaking. 

"Which brings us back to my feet," she sighed, looking down at them and flexing them. "Because of how humbling it is, pampering someone's feet is usually seen as pretty intimate. Like a caring husband massaging his wife's tired feet after a long day at the office. So, if a Mother makes her maturing son rub her feet, it will likely make him feel very uncomfortable. When you throw in the fact that the foot-care is a punishment, that keeps him from... being a man, it's very easy to see why the son would feel utterly humiliated." 

I sat there in stunned silence. She was dead-on in her psychological analysis. Especially that last remark about the punishment keeping me from "being a man." She was talking about my desire to be with Rosey… and that terrified me. It meant that she knew exactly what she was doing to me. 

"Now that you're aware that I understand how you feel, let me still be very clear," my mother stated, placing her hands on her hips confidently. "You are spending the rest of this quarantine… Under. My. Feet." 

My knees buckled as cold sweat rolled down the side of my face. 

"I can be more specific than that, too." She said. "You will, for all intents and purposes, LIVE under the soles of my feet, in between my toes, and in all my socks and shoes. While I wear them!" 

My face fell into my hands as I tried to muffle my sobs. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening! 

I just… I just want Rosey! 

"That's right mister," my mother chided. "You will crawl under my feet. You will rub them, kiss them, cuddle them, and… You. Will. Like it!" 

"Mom!" I finally shouted, pleading. "Please! Please stop!" 

She waited for me to calm down for a moment before speaking again. 

"Sweetie, I don't like scolding you, but you have to understand your place." She said. "Look, baby. Look at my feet." 

I did as I was told, turning my gaze to those appendages that served as the base for my mother, each one now the size of a trailer. 

"Here," Mom said. "Here's one of the feet that you're gonna live under." 

She slowly lifted her right foot, and brought it over my head. She rotated it gently with her ankle before letting it settle flat above me in the air. She splayed her toes, her sole stretching out smooth, and then scrunched them into her sole, wrinkling it up, repeatedly. It was an almost hypnotic motion. 

"There," she cooed, seeing me slightly relax. "Is this anything to be afraid of?" 

I considered if that was a trick question due to the fact that the speech she had just finished had explained, in detail, exactly why I should fear her feet and be grossed out by them. 

"I'm your mother, and I would never do anything to hurt my little boy," she said sweetly. "But when you don't know what's good for you, I need to keep you safe from yourself, too. These big feet can be your shelter. They can be your new home." 

She set the foot down to my left, leaning forward to move its partner up over me to repeat the process. Rotate, rotate, then stretch and scrunch, stretch and scrunch... 

"I take very good care of them. See?" She said, tilting her foot to the side slightly as she smiled almost hopefully down at me. 

"I do my best to make sure they're always as clean and fresh as possible," she explained. "So it won't be that bad to be under them all the time. It certainly won't be gross." 

"They're also very soft and smooth, so they'll be comfortable for you!" She said cheerfully. "Here, feel for yourself!" 

I had little time to react as she quickly brought her foot down and set it on top of me with a faint slap. It felt as though a huge, smooth mattress had been pressed onto me. The soft flesh of the ball of her foot molded around my entire, spread-eagled body. 

I then felt as she slightly lifted her foot to begin rubbing it back and forth on top of me. I rolled around helplessly on the floor as she gently squished me with every part of it from heel to toes. When squished, I would involuntarily yelp, and she started cooing teasingly at me. 

"There, there, baby boy,~" she pouted. "It may be a *little* uncomfortable, but doesn't that feel good~? It's like a full-body massage!" 

She laughed at her ridiculous comparison before finally letting me go, setting her left foot down to my right. 

I sat up to get my bearings only to see that her feet now completely surrounded me. I looked up as my Mom giggled down at me before taking a half-step back. 

"There, is it really gonna be so bad to live under your mommy's feet as a tiny little miniature man?" she asked. 

If she thought that torture was going to make me look forward to my punishment at all, she was very wrong. 

"Besides, you have to admit," she said, dangling her feet daintily in front of me, one at a time. "Aren't they pretty?" 

I felt my face grow hot as I blushed. They definitely weren't ugly. They were far from it, so I couldn't lie to her, but I also didn't want to give her the satisfaction. 

"Well, they're… they're um, uh…" I tried to stammer out a reply as she simply giggled at me. 

"Oh, you are just too precious!" She almost squealed. "Now, come here, baby~." 

I look up to see her bend her knees to reach down. With her face plastered with an excited grin, her right hand rushed towards me, its fingers spread out. I snapped out of my trance and started to back away. Just as I turned to run, she made contact. 

"Stop! No!" I cried. "No, no, no! Please don't- mmff!!"  

Her fingers close around me like a cage, smothering my squirming little body into the warm flesh of my mother's palm. 

"Shhh!" My mother cooed, and I felt her writhing fingers above me pulse as she squeezed me gently. 

"Hush sweetie, stop squirming~"