For Richer, For Smaller (Chapter 4) (Patreon)

“You have to tell me if it gets to be too much,” Lillian insisted, still not having descended her mouth-watering sole by another hairsbreadth. “At all. I’m serious. If it starts to hurt even a little bit, you have to scream and hit my foot as much as you can. I won’t let anything happen to you, Tony, I promise. You’ll-”

“I know,” he sweetly calmed her again, though less out of concern for her reluctant distress and more because he was going to burst if they delayed this any longer. “Trust me, just like I trust you. Please, Lil. It’s okay.”

Nodding, Lillian finally surrendered to her powerful husband’s beguiling, and gingerly dipped her foot that final margin, until the richly satiny lustrously-peachy small island of her perfectly-maintained bare foot was melded against Tony’s direly eager six-inch body. As he’d guessed, she applied virtually no pressure at all, such that the weight of her tepid foot upon him was lighter than if he’d crawled beneath a mattress, but this was enough at least for him to begin with. The rush that overcame the little fetishist once every part of his body was sandwiched between floor and foot was unparalleled; adrenaline, goose bumps, and consciousness-threatening arousal surged through Tony like exploded floodgates as he was hugged so affectionately into this temporary ceiling of pliable pinkish cushioning, made the silky-softest possible to achieve in even the most pampered human thanks to all the preparation he’d paid for in dreamy anticipation of this eventual shrunken consummation. That familiar yet made-new texture of her skin, lotioned and massaged and treated to marble-clear perfection, didn’t smother down upon him nearly as hard as he’d been yearning for, but nonetheless contacted him just firmly enough for Tony to experience the near-pulsating liveliness of her sole, its terraforming grooves and buttery fluidity, such that he couldn’t help but squirm and part his lips in devoted awe. Goddamn, this was worth every second of waiting, and they hadn’t even gotten to the “real” thing yet.

“How does it feel?” Lillian asked, which turned Tony on even harder, though admittedly he would’ve preferred if his wife had asked this question in a flirtatiously sultry manner, rather than with this feeble worst-case-scenario tremor. But he’d work with what he had. “I’m not… pressing too much, am I? If I need to stop so you can take a break…”

“It feels fucking amazing,” he vowed, slightly muffled, then planted a passionate kiss on her foot. “Go harder now. Please. I can take it.”

“Harder? But what if-”

“Just do it, Lil,” Tony forcefully interrupted with impatience and mounting head-spun arousal, proving once more exactly who was in charge here, even when he was miniaturized and voluntarily pinned under his spouse’s naked sole. “Push.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Lillian bowed to her husband’s whims, as she always did in the end, and complied by smushing down with marginally greater force: still far from her total weight, but nonetheless double the duress she’d already reluctantly compacted into Tony. True to the six-incher’s long-fantasized prediction, while it still wasn’t the complete experience – though he intended to get Lillian to that point eventually, even if she was being selfish right now by withholding his greatest wish to take her full comparatively-leviathan mass concentrated upon his shrunken form – it was still a slice of heaven for the arch-entombed creature below. The whole frontside of his supine form was at once molded up into the firm yet mildly doughy quashiness of underfoot texture. His rock-hard pants bulge was pinned to his thigh by the mashing complex of gorgeous sole wrinkles, the surface empowered by that dynamic cardio-sculpted musculature lurking beneath the surface of her daintily pampered giant ped. And Tony’s face, perhaps the most important point of contact in this erotically-charged aspiration – more so even than his literal erection – was staunchly reunited with the bottom of his wife’s reticent foot in the boldest of ways. It felt like his skull had been swaddled tightly in a knotted trash bag for suffocation, only the plastic material was replaced exclusively with the humid, heavy, surprisingly-unyielding terrain of the giantess’s sole flesh. The thrill had to be felt to be believed.

Almost immediately, Tony’s prior annoyance at his wife’s fussy hesitation was alleviated, as he vividly savored the wonderfully oppressive experience of his first-ever post-diminishment trample session. What’s more, it was the most intense one of his life by far, as was to be expected when there was so little of him left to stand upon. Yes, it also wasn’t yet quite what he’d imagined, since Lillian was sitting down still and cautiously controlling precisely how much weight she plied upon him, but ultimately the little guy was prepared to forgive the woman for her doubts, because this half-measure version of his favorite activity packed more of a punch than he could’ve ever anticipated, and it was fantastic. Even while his subordinate foot-goddess was holding back so squeamishly, she’d now far surpassed the usual undersole burden she sportingly imposed back at his old six-three scope. And it was physically taxing, Tony realized; his previously-conceived analogy of lying beneath a mattress was still true, except if textbooks were now being gradually stacked atop the bedding. It might’ve even verged on hurt. But then again, there was no pleasure without a little pain, at least in Tony’s foot-obsessed philosophy, and in tandem with that looming threat of pushed boundaries and physiology-testing soreness, his adrenaline was steeping higher and his stimulation was off the charts.

He was overheated, could scarcely breathe on the refined fumes of Lillian’s shoe musk, various points on his body were probably getting close to minor bruising from all the pressure, and he couldn’t move now except to clumsily fidget his extremities like a man-shaped vibrator. It was glorious. And all he wanted now was more. For fifteen whole minutes, which was more than he expected to receive given his wife’s previous panic-minded scrupulousness, Tony was immobilized upon the rug, with his twitchy limbs splayed under her momentous stead and dregs of lightly sweat-fusty oxygen somehow still reaching his partly-deflated lungs. Lillian had probably only allowed him to go on this long because she could still feel regular cooling puffs of his adoring exhales fogging against her gigantic sole, not to mention the persistence of his puny hard-on bent to her heft. Still, all good things had to come to an end, and by this point, the little guy couldn’t really complain when his risk-averse spouse could handle no more of this anxious business for now, and delicately peeled her battened-down arch away from his profoundly titillated form. Having gotten her to cross this particular bridge today, however, what with the unexpected news of his permanent shrinkage and then convincing Lillian to half-heartedly step on him in one fell swoop, Tony had no doubt that soon he’d have everything he ever desired. It would surely only require a little more nudging to make her give in.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” he breathlessly insisted.

“No, I… guess not,” a flustered Lillian relented while massaging her temples from stress, but her lack of convincing enthusiasm hardly mattered to Tony. He just needed her to cooperate with those pedicure-immaculate feet, and everything would fall into place as it was meant to.