For Richer, For Smaller (Chapter 10) (Patreon)

First Lillian mock-utilized her six-inch husband like a kitchen stool meant for reaching the top shelf. In doing so, she rolled forward from her heel onto the balls of both diagonally-planted feet, coming very close to standing on her tiptoes, all while crowding as much of both peds onto him at once as she could manage. Just before she could make like a ballerina and concentrate most of her weight through those ten blanch-paled digit pads, then, which quite likely could’ve surpassed the man’s unquantified durability limits and snapped a rib or two, the giantess slid forward again, pivoted on the hardwood just an inch past Tony’s head, and re-mounted his stupefied little body in a hurry.

After that initial passing-over, Lillian upped her efforts, alternately tilting the focal point of her mass into her nude heels and using this decreased burden on her upper soles to play full-body pat-a-cake with her floorbound subject, before another swift change-up in pattern ensured she could pump and twist upon his whole anatomy with a yet-distinct portion of putty-smushy undersole geometry. Even the doughy midway crescents of her soles, which had always been the cushiest and debatably-favorite features of her perfect feet that the shrinker first and foremost associated with a squishier less-taxing lull in any good trample session, now bore down on him with more-than-imposing force. Every part of her lotioned peds, be it the bracing thickness of her heels or the dainty dewdrop-shaped toeprints of a pinky, was capable at any instant of being either the comfiest or harshest surface Tony had ever touched, though they were almost exclusively the latter extreme. Lillian might as well have been trying to crush grapes into spouse-flavored wine, for all her heavy naked-arched pattering that seemed designed to punch down with the greatest-possible volume of sole bulk in the shortest stretch of time, and thereby make the mind-reeling fetishist feel as though he was simultaneously buried under a stationary boulder-weighted mattress of bare foot, and also awaiting the stampeding comedown to impact him again at any given second.

Feeling the closest thing he might ever experience to wartime shell shock now, Tony wheezily rasped and limb-wormed as effervescently as he could, because although this current treatment was unquestionably worse than the marginally more surmountable single-sole plastering of yesterday, Lillian’s constant repositioning on him at least meant he could squeak in protest or palpably flinch to send up an S.O.S. Yet the six-incher was so psychologically and physically floored by the whiplash turnaround from his wife’s sincere promise to become a better partner, right before she rewarded him with this pounding bombardment of pampered sole meatiness, that even though he had fleeting opportunities now to bellow his complaints in no uncertain terms, he couldn’t muster the words in time before his face became fleshily mummified under the pliable staunchness of the giantess’s flexed arch yet again. The best he could do now was pitifully writhe or blow raspberries while Lillian misguidedly trounced and heel-dug and toe-splayed upon him with gusto well past what Tony found pleasurable or even tolerable. Yet unlike yesterday’s impulse-driven quash, which was beginning to seem tame in comparison to this lawless ordeal, the giantess no longer had the excuse of not noticing the little guy’s emergency signals in between foot-raises. He was trying his best to convey discomfort, pain, even unfaked panic, and she still showed no hint of ceasing, let alone any concern.

“Fee, fi, fo, FUM! I smell the desire of a not-so-big man! Be he asleep or be he horny, I’ll grind him under my FEET to show him who’s the BOSS around here from now on!” Lillian lyrically pronounced, though with no degree of actual self-seriousness. The sandy-tressed giantess chuckled all the while as she carried on weightily shuffling both giant size-8s across her thoroughly flattened miniature hubby. “Only having some fun, sweetie. Don’t worry. I’m not really about to make all your special unwinding time be beanstalk-themed. Although… from what I can feel happening down there… it doesn’t really seem to matter what I say, so long as you get what you want. Sorry, what WE want now. And all jokes aside, I know nothing about this is funny to you. To you, this is everything. I understand that now, completely. And I’m going to start treating you the way you’ve always deserved.”

It was so foreign hearing Lillian crack a joke like this, let alone smile or laugh, in the midst of trampling him that Tony almost suspected he was hallucinating her commentary, though that could’ve also just been a byproduct of so much sole-pancaking anarchy and skull-bashes that might’ve induced a concussion if not for his improved shrunken stamina. Sure enough, though, she really was speaking to him this way, earnest and well-meaning in her words themselves, though that reveling tone left the half-footer smushed under her with a creeping sense of disquiet. Again, she was correct about him: despite the cringe-worthy cheese of her fairy tale mockery, and the overall ultra-punishing quality of this whole riotous trample-fest, Tony’s venerable hard-on was still perked and within minutes of a bittersweet bust. Lillian really did have his number, even if almost everything else about her overly-ardent approach to making his dreams come true tonight was tortuously off-base. If only he could realign his scrambled synapses enough to form a coherent word, and then release it as a shout during one of those split-second intervals when some part of his colossal spouse’s foot wasn’t darkening Tony’s world, discombobulating his senses, and tightly inhuming him under a living ceiling of empowered spa-fresh succulently-wrinkly sole skin.

“STOP!” he yelped at last, releasing two sessions’ worth of pent-up disturbance in a shriller pitch than he intended, but for once, Tony didn’t care how he sounded or looked. Metaphorically, if he was the captain of the ship here – and he was certain he was – he’d fallen overboard yesterday morning in the laundry room, and no matter how messy or humiliating the measures required, the most important thing now was just clambering back aboard to right their course. That was all.

To Tony’s tremendous relief, this girlish outcry finally did the trick, proving to him that he was still the captain, regardless of a few stormy waves. Lillian halted her short-range back-and-forth pacing pattern across the supine six-incher the second his dissent reached her ears. Taking a seat back on the couch, then, the overzealous giantess knelt down and gathered her battered husband up in both cupped palms to draw him back to the level of her chest. Like yesterday, Tony was too preoccupied with reorienting his soundly-defeated physiology during the first head-aching minute of his reacquired liberty to even open his eyes again. When he did, though, he was again greeted by that same recurring mask of frigid anonymity on Lillian’s face: not quite indifference, but also not garment-rending worry. Just scrutiny, a touch of surprise, and that alien flash of hostility behind her wide green eyes. Who the hell was looking back at him now? Because if it didn’t look exactly like her in terms of objective facial characteristics, Tony might’ve sworn this wasn’t his wife holding him in her hands.

“Something the matter, little one?” Lillian asked: a question that would’ve soothed him if not for the crack of her smile or her novel use of that semi-degrading nickname. “I finally did what you wanted. I gave it everything I had, like you’ve been begging for all this time. But somehow you don’t look like you’re exactly on top of the world. Come on, now. Let me into that adorable head of yours. What’s got you so worked up, besides my feet?”

“That… was not… what I wanted!” Tony panted. He tried to sit up, but was forced to slump flat again on her palms again and nurse his bruise-bordering shoulders and hips, still passively wheezing under his breath while his lungs reshaped. There was so much wrong to correct here, the six-incher didn’t even know where to start with her, yet for as egregiously as his wife had abused and probably near-wounded him in the past two days, he couldn’t bring himself to excoriate her back in vengeful fury, either. Which surprised even Tony, because he’d spent most of this second unprompted foot-stomping fiasco believing that Lillian deserved a historic verbal reaming. “W-Way… WAY too much! You took it so much farther than I ever thought you’d… fuck, I… look, Lil, I guess this whole thing is… both of our faults. We didn’t talk it through like we should have. I thought I did want “everything” you had. I know that’s what I asked for. And that’s what you gave me, even though I hoped you maybe would’ve taken it a little slower at first, to make sure I was… you know what, that part doesn’t matter now. We’re both still learning how this works. I… appreciate… so much still, that you can see things my way now. That you want to do this thing for me all the way. But, for the next time, we have to get on the same page. Practice and perfect. This way, there’s no chance of ever-”

“Oh, precious little Tony…” the five-foot-seven titaness cooed, giggling low and shaking her head. This reaction perplexed her husband for a moment until he realized how deeply peculiar a feeling it was to be interrupted by her. Had that ever even happened before? “…I never would’ve taken you for someone who would just give up so quickly on something you’ve obviously spent your whole life waiting for. Just look at yourself. Always the smartest man in the room, the richest, usually the tallest, and the one in charge. You’ve always known exactly what you wanted, and you took it. No compromises. That’s probably what I’ve always admired most about you. Are you really saying that you’re about to abandon your whole dream, just because the reality of it takes a little getting used to? Tell me, then. How could any good wife, let alone the foot-goddess of your dreams, just stand idly by and let you make such a terrible mistake?”

“I’m not abandoning anything!” the shrinker defensively blurted in abject frustration, wincing again when he stressed a tender muscle. “I still want this from you. I need it. But-”

“-but you lost your nerve,” Lillian finished for him, without judgment, but so unflinchingly self-certain that Tony couldn’t so much as croak at her in revolt. “From the minute they shrunk you, you forgot what you’ve always been about. What you’ve always craved, more than money or power or respect. Being below my feet: having them pressed down on top of you hard, stomping and squishing and hurting and pleasing you, until you really feel as small as you are, through every part of yourself. Our anniversary’s not for a few months still, but… consider this my early gift to you, little one. I’m going to make you remember who you are, deep down, and where you know you belong. Because you deserve nothing less, or more. Understand?”

“Lil…” Tony seethed, both moderately enraged and incredibly turned-on.

“Understand?” Having lithely crossed one foot up over her knee, Lillian lowered her handheld husband to the level of her propped sole, one of the same which had so recently left him twitchily hyper-sore like an amateur standing in for a prizefighter’s boxing warmup. She cupped Tony gingerly against that pillowy fontanel-soft pinkness of her potent arch, and began to massage his six-inch body along the supple dimply flesh with a lullaby-like cradle-sway. “Tell you what. Don’t say anything else right now. Just… give it some time to sink in, that what’s going to happen from now on is for the best. For the both of us.”

When the shrinker didn’t object to this treatment, more out of speechless bafflement than actual wholehearted agreement with Lillian’s previous declaration, the woman continued stroking him face-first from heel-to-toe along the bottom of her foot like a pumice stone, while her opposite hand snatched the remote control and raised the volume on her TV show again. With each genially intoxicating full-figure rub across his spouse’s warm sole, feeling his arousal stoked back to pre-climactic levels again, Tony struggled once more to articulate himself, but only came up with randy huffing. And this time he wasn’t even having the wind knocked out of him or his lips forcibly gag-kissed against a sole that could dominate him with less than the pressure required to pop bubble wrap. It was just that Lillian had confounded him more utterly than ever before in their relationship, and nothing he could think to say would help his case in this moment. Everything she’d just told him indeed aligned with the six-inch CEO’s own statements and yearnings from over the years. She really did know him through and through. To object now would risk upsetting an already delicate balance, and as far as Tony was concerned, indeed make him exactly what she’d warned he might be: a quitter. A coward. A compromiser. Most heinous of all, not the one in charge. He simply couldn’t allow that, not for anything.