Footbound (Chapter 14) (Patreon)

Well-before the sun even set, Mitch took two sleeping pills, and while he doubted he would need the help given his level of unhealthy fatigue, he wasn’t taking any chances here, either with his desperately needed sleep, or the dreamlessness he was hoping to achieve – even while a part of him knew he was going to miss Eve’s fourth visit. Regardless of whether she’d threatened to consume his soul, she still continued to be the favorite part of his “day,” aside from his staring contests with the flaxen creases running up and down Lilina’s upturned stocking arches. All he needed was a day away, or rather a night, to clear his head of insomniac paranoia so he could go back to the same blissfully relaxing and frankly transcendently sensual encounters of before.

Unsurprisingly, then, Mitch was out like a light almost the minute his head hit the pillow, and he was only too grateful. His body had a lot of catching up to do. What did come as a surprise, however, was the way he became indistinctly aware that he was perceiving his bedroom in the dark again, albeit with the shadows seemingly stretching further than ever, as if his dinky apartment quarters had become a concert hall. His bed, too, seemed to extend luxuriously in all directions, which might’ve been a comfort in terms of leg room, except Mitch instead felt a tightening in his throat, strangely similar to a feeling he received once as a child when lost in the woods behind his family’s house. It occurred to him for no discernible reason that if he was to rise in his bed now and climb down to the floor, he might never find his way out of the room. So he just pulled the covers tighter around his neck, so snug that it affected his breathing for a moment, until he noticed and loosened his grasp.

Unfortunately, letting go of the sheets again didn’t restart the flow of regular oxygen, because as Mitch’s gaze fixated on a spot in the blackness ahead, disbelieving that he was in fact back in the same dream despite those pills which should’ve conked him out cold, his doubt was put to rest by the sudden reappearance of the moon. Or at least his brain told him it was the moon at first, given the way it loomed overhead, with that twinkling silver-white glow and inherent alluring importance, until Mitch realized the slope-sculpted oblong shape was all wrong, as was the peachy luster under that lunar luminescence. And if it wasn’t enough of a clue-in that he was just looking toward the ceiling instead of the night sky, the fact that Eve’s foot was growing the nearer it came was the final indication that Mitch’s attempts to block her out, just for one night, had failed magnificently. Still, pretty traitorously, his heart leapt at that sight of that most beautiful form, especially when it was joined by its mirror-twin.

Distance between them had become impossible to judge, but even from what must’ve been a space too far to actually reach up and stroke her buttery silken moon-arches, Mitch still found himself drinking in the same degree of detail as when Eve had last pressed her warm, fulfilling sole flesh taut as wet-packed earth up against his wholly accepting facial features. If anything, he was somehow seeing more of her underfoot landscape than ever before, improbable though that was while he was still also able to view the eerily distended dreamscape of his enlarged bedroom. It was like she’d levitated him right out of the sheets in a helpless pre-aroused bundle to force him to come to her this time rather than the other way around, though Mitch never felt his body leave the mattress either. At once he was seeing both the complete architecture of crisscrossing wrinkles and the orangeish-pink flickers of interwoven sole skin cells from a millimeter away; feeling the wonderfully oppressive heat from the meaty ball of her foot, and the midnight coolness breathed betwixt her flexing toes; smelling that aroma of sticky sugared pastry and poisoned garden, the sweetest and most intoxicating yet despite the sting of oceanic sweat-salt being sharper than before.

The visitor’s peds were still nearing his breathless form, dropping through the darkness with the graceful poise of royalty dipping her toes through oily bathwater, but still they seemed so far away, further than the literal moon, and yet close enough to kiss. Mitch’s breath caught in his chest, as it always did, but when he exhaled again he heard himself pitifully gasp aloud, which startled him, given the way Eve had robbed him of his voice so quickly the previous nights. He felt no more confident the closer the undersides of her bare feet came that he had enough gumption or arm length to actually touch her, but still those seductive ovular-angled soles and every deeply-textured furrow lining the supple runway from heel to toe-shelf appeared to perfectly aggrandize, overtaking much of the surrounding void in Mitch’s already-endless and unseen bedroom. During Eve’s prior invasions, her quiet disciple had loosely sensed a single naked foot folding over his whole body at once, even while his eyes, nose, and lips told him she was gently compressing his face alone.

That illusion, too, was shattered, when Mitch became fully convinced that he was looking up at a pair of tender ample-valleyed peds each individually larger than his whole body. There was no confusion of conflicting perception at once: just a gigantic pair of imposing angelically-elegant ultra-feminine feet, slung contentedly up in the darkness, with the rest of their owner’s body still too shrouded to find. And that dwarfing effect on Mitch was rendered all the more galling as the man realized again that he couldn’t even find the edges of his bed now, nor the top of the blankets. He was stranded in a cloth desert, covered still but only paltrily so, feeling curiously small, and looking up to an increasingly well-lit roof constituted solely of Eve’s feet, currently positioned in such a way that they need only have come down another few meters (or perhaps a few hundred, there was no way to tell) to clap him possessively beneath beefy rose-creased contours of fragrant arch flesh.

The question wasn’t so much whether it would hurt to be smushed under those forms, as somehow Mitch still understood that she wasn’t here to break or even harm his physical form, but instead whether he’d ever again shake the feeling of being stood firmly upon by those tremendous landmasses of the most unimpeachable feet he’d ever witness. He doubted it would be a sensation he could ever replace with anymore more significant, hot and plush and airless and all-consuming as it would be to be virtually swallowed by that placid heft of squishy and titanous dual soles. What’s more, he was terrified to consider that maybe he wouldn’t even want to forget that feeling, or even feel anything ever again.