For Richer, For Smaller (Chapter 11) (Patreon)

Out of nowhere, then, after fondling her reluctantly-submitted subject across that bountifully plush terrain of her lofted sole curve so amorously that it almost could’ve put him to sleep, Lillian ceased tracing the little guy’s frontside over every variably-quashy district of her professionally-perfected foot, and instead held him with spine-testing tautness against the middle depth of the arch. Even without a hardwood floor at Tony’s back to up the ante, pressure-wise, the giantess was flattening him so brutally by hand to her sideways-rested ped that the soft vanilla-scented skin of her palm might as well have been made from titanium. Her fingers clamped around the sides of her foot and shivered with white-knuckle effort to compress the shrinker into the luxurious makeshift weapon of her own sole as stiffly as possible, though Tony did far more tremoring himself.

Again his airways depleted, his joints pinched, and his own outer layer of bodily flesh began to feel like wet bread dough rolled so thin that one could see the countertop surface right through it. This was almost worse than what she’d just done to him on the ground, and after that round alone, he felt in dire need of at least a twelve-hour break before he even touched her foot again. Nevertheless, a piteous cheep passed from Tony’s lips through the unbending wall of wifely sole, he gave a last orgasmic hip-buck against the giantess’s hand, and then he finished what they’d already started on the floor earlier. If the man didn’t have a prepared retort for Lillian’s new doctrine before, he definitely didn’t have one now, with damp boxers and very little leg to stand upon. After this successful extraction of painful ecstasy, she loosened her grip and resumed tenderly caressing Tony up and down her underfoot slope as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred, never taking her attention off the plasma screen – not even to check in on her husband’s health post-ejaculation. The six-incher, the captain of his own ship no matter what anyone said, still didn’t offer any spoken opposition, but he remained on high alert in the giantess’s hand until her show rolled its end credits.

“I’m so glad we had this talk tonight. I feel really good about us. Don’t you, sweetie?” Lillian asked, holding Tony before her face again. She hadn’t given him another hand-guided sole-drubbing after he came in his pants, but there was essentially no need anyway: the anticipatory tension in his half-foot body was so palpable that he looked like a doll with its limbs screwed on too tight to move. When Tony didn’t answer her or even show any facial expression beyond lip-pursed wariness, the giantess merely smiled wider and flirtatiously ran her fingertip along his cheek. “Give me a kiss good night? I couldn’t help but notice we’ve… fallen out of that habit in the last year or two. This feels like the right time to bring it back, seeing how things are going to be changing for the better around here.”

Silently keeping Lillian at arm’s length (at least in spirit, considering he was still dependently reclined in her open hand), Tony reticently nodded his head and puckered up for a smooch. Almost everything about this evolving situation felt both right and wrong at once, with the correct path forward blurrier than ever, but somehow it just seemed wisest to agree with her and recement their romance in whatever way she desired. Such affection might help remedy any lingering ominousness from her newly announced mission to become his optimal foot-goddess.

But Lillian didn’t put her own pretty pink lips together in kind, nor did she pull the little man closer for some passionate kiss-and-makeup time. Instead her hand dipped him back to the same upraised foot he’d been involuntarily kneaded and compounded along for almost an hour, nudging Tony just close enough that his pouted mouth met the marshmallowy lightly-oiled cushion of her pinky toe underside. Mildly disconcerted for the umpteenth time tonight, but at least not at all against this gesture in theory, the shrinker refused to let her spy any consternation in his face, and sportingly planted a wet smack of a kiss on his wife’s pliant-padded smallest digit.

“Love you too, little one,” Lillian whispered, seeming to relish this foot-pecking exchange more than her husband, and then set him down on the sofa cushion beside her thigh. Officially no longer confident in his ability to predict anything his spouse was going to do next, Tony watched in blank incredulity as the woman switched off the TV and marched toward the hall, turning out the light on her way past the wall switch. “Sweet dreams, now.”

Left in virtual pitch-blackness, and listening to the sound of Lillian’s changeable feet thumping on their stairwell ascent toward the master bedroom with apparently no intention of coming back for him, the shrinker briefly pondered his option of hopping down from the couch while barely able to see the floor. At six inches tall, a drop from here would feel comparable to diving off his one-story pool house. And though logic reminded Tony that his enhanced bodily endurance would protect him from the harm of such a mild fall – certainly more so than it had just helped him against a double-header of underfoot tramplings from his wife – something in his gut prevented him from taking this mostly-safe leap. It was just an abundance of caution, he bitterly told himself. Caution and the desire to let his already-smarting anatomy heal. Not fear. What even was there to be goddamned afraid of here, anyway? More unsettled than he’d been before walking into the living room tonight, but also defiantly positive that everything was still under control, Tony curled up in the corner of his four-thousand-dollar couch and eventually slipped into fitful sleep.

###

“Oh, there you are, little one. Just what I was looking for!” Lillian brightly proclaimed right as Tony emerged from the home office, her pearly-white smile almost as loud as her voice. She’d been leaning against the wall just out of sight, her arms crossed and one sandaled foot balanced toes-down in front of the other, which gave the embarrassingly flustered six-incher cause to wipe out flat on his face in surprise. He’d in fact been leerily listening for her before coming out of the room, hoping she might be on the other side of the house now, and was unprepared for this amiable stealth-attack. The giantess giggled in a tone just short of amused condescension while Tony stood back up and dusted himself off. “Oops. Sorry about that. I didn’t think someone so much bigger than you could actually sneak up on you like that, but… apparently…”

Tony grimaced, unable to meet his wife’s gaze above. In the strange few days since he was unorthodoxly banished to the couch for a night after a pang-fueled chastening beneath Lillian’s feet, he had yet to demand another treading. Though he certainly hadn’t been deprived of such treatment since then, despite his conflicted wishes, because true to her word, his spouse had taken the reins. And while she hadn’t imposed nearly as many heavy-soled sessions upon Tony as the man himself had indulgently requested during that halcyon first week-and-a-half of his new shrunken life, this lesser frequency was just as well, because twenty-two minutes for a cooldown between treadings didn’t even come close to sufficient now.

While Lillian still mostly tended to use the special foam mats whenever she put her husband on notice again with a sweetly tempting purr and mandatory beckon to make himself available for squashing under her naked soles, the once-supportive material hardly seemed to make a difference at this point. She’d rampage across him in slow motion, back and forth from every direction for a hurtful loop of toe-clenching heel-driving adversity. Lillian easily cancelled out the rug’s yield whenever she purposefully concentrated almost all of her comparatively-immense corporeal mass through the ball of one foot, rather than prudently distributing her weight between both ample malleably-ravined soles as she initially did for his own security. As a result, once Tony was stamped to a degree that appropriately broke his stress-based limits, robbed him of all air and patience, and also made him cum, the giantess would abruptly resume her household duties while humming a jaunty tune, and her half-foot husband would retreat to a private corner of the house to recuperate. Sometimes she’d go easy on him, relatively speaking, and use force that he found more gratifying than not, in which case he’d need only an hour or so to be revived. But those times were the exception, not the rule. And with each day that passed, the woman seemed bound and determined to discover new ways of heftily violating Tony with every nook and cranny of her ever-descending feet, to the point that, even after the first few hours had passed and the preliminary skull-imploding sting had subsided, a night could pass and the shrinker still creakily felt the sprained echoes of a particularly vicious routing by his spouse’s velvety undeniably-sumptuous giant undersoles the next morning.

“You were… looking for me?” Tony asked with a perfunctory fake-grin and lengthy throat-clearing, having chosen to ignore her successful spooking of him altogether. Following whatever neuron-screwy awakening had caused Lillian to go from the passively doting head-bowed housewife to a near-insatiable larger-than-life foot mistress, she’d developed a predatory twinkle in her eye and a corner-crook to her quiet smile for moments such as this which told her six-inch partner exactly what was on her mind. Specifically, it told him there were only seconds left before the woman softly commanded him to surrender his body onto the nearest mat for a sensuously bone-tensing smushdown beneath her feet. To that end, he lied with as much conviction and calm as he could manage: “I actually just finished a conference call with our financial advisory board. And the biggest prick in the whole bunch is expecting a follow-up in ten minutes, so-”

“That works out perfectly, then. I don’t think I’m going to be needing you for very long at all. Come here, little one,” Lillian interrupted, unabashed, as she stooped to collect her husband. Not wanting to suffer a second indignity so quickly after his startled topple upon exiting the office, Tony willed himself not to flinch when her fingers lashed like boas around his body. Still, as she sauntered off God-knew-where with him, the little man couldn’t help but experience the pre-emptive stomach knots and phantom bruise cramps from the knowledge of what was to come. Her hand wasn’t even constricting him that tightly, especially measured by the standards of certain other body parts, but it didn’t matter. The clasping of palm flesh against his ribcage, with moderate yet still-overpowering strength eerily similar to the texture and clout of her sole, was all it took to trigger the shrinker’s fight-or-flight. Neither of which he could actually choose now.

And on top of that, Tony had to work overtime not to let his countenance shrivel whenever his wife used that cheekily denigrating nickname she seemed to love so much. Naturally, it bothered him deeply being primarily referred to as “little one” these days, but they were long past the point where he could tell her to stop it without revealing how self-esteem eroding it truly was. Like the nerd on the playground having to beg for the friendship of his longtime bully just to finally be left alone. Tony infinitely preferred to be called that stupid name a million times over and stoically weather it just like all the trampling, never letting her know that her behavior was getting the better of him even slightly. As he saw it, that was the only way he was going to win here.

“I’ve been giving all this some more thought…” Lillian explained while bounding down the stairs far quicker than necessary and thus afflicting her handheld spouse with vertigo in the process. In short order, they were back in the kitchen and standing over the farmhouse sink. “The way I had that… indiscretion in the laundry room, when I thought your daily needs were clashing with all the work I have to get done around this house. Really, it was my own fault, for lacking a better imagination. So, I really am sorry for that whole thing again. Because I just might have the perfect solution now. All it takes is some clever multitasking, and everything will be taken care of.”