For Richer, For Smaller (Chapter 14) (Patreon)

“Huh? Wait, Lil-”

“You were right all along. Just like you always are, about everything. I forgot who I was dealing with, to ever think that you ever could’ve had enough. That was just plain selfish of me,” she articulated, having banished the grogginess in one exhale. Slowly Lillian sat up in bed, cupping a hand behind Tony’s six-inch body just as the incline of her breasts became too steep for him to keep camped upon, then sealed the quietly dumbstruck little man in a captive fist tight enough to almost push his erection all the way between his legs to the other side like a rabbit tail. Just like that, the fleeting illusion of her spouse’s height advantage, or of any substantive power, was shattered. “I don’t think anything could stop us now. You know, there were a few days there where I worried you might’ve lost your touch. Or that I’d lost mine. But you’ve shown me I was only thinking too small, again. Do you want to know the best part of all this, little one? I really don’t think I have to give anything up of my own, even though I would, for you, in a heartbeat. You’ve seen how well we work together, when I take care of my chores around the house and you at the same time, or when you become my favorite cushion while I put on my makeup. That’s all well and good, but even then, it’s still not… dreaming big enough. Let me show you what I mean.”

Ten infuriating minutes later, during which time a catatonically silent Tony was left feeling more adrift than he ever had in any executive office full of high-and-mighty suits, he found himself lying face-up on Lillian’s exercise mat, while the giantess herself towered above him in a figure-complimentary garment ensemble of slim black yoga pants and a sleek high-dollar sports bra. And of course her perfect dew-puttied athletically-sculpted peds were pressed authoritatively into the colorful foam terrain on either side of him, while a female voice on the plasma screen ahead sunnily instructed her viewers to get ready for a centering calm and a good burn, all in one thorough yoga routine. Pessimistically, Tony suspected he only had the latter of those two offerings in store. Had the woman seriously called his fucking bluff here? He’d played out the whole scenario in his head, weighed every variable, and determined that Lillian simply didn’t have it in her to commit as deeply as she just had. This was not how any of this was supposed to go.

“We begin with a nice strong mountain pose today,” the TV yoga instructor declared. “Back straight, shoulders back, head up, feet together, and we raaaaaise the arms up like this. Breathe, hold it for three seconds, and think as though you’re making yourself as taaaaall as possible, and concentrating aaaaall your weight down through the center of yourself, right into the mat. Let the tension just flow out of you.”

Precisely none of that direction did anything but fill Tony with a pot-boiling degree of all the rife tension his wife had just been directed to relinquish, and she wasn’t even standing on him yet. But of course she did so in short order, mirroring the annoyingly zen video-woman’s breathy drawn-out commands by raising both soles without any further intimidation tactics, and clomping them both heavily across her six-inch unconventional yoga partner so he was fully and painfully immersed, while she serenely enacted the rest of the pose. This was far from a novel position for Tony, with one of the giantess’s soles occupying the top half of his body and the other laid over his hips-down, just like they’d done that first time he’d – prematurely – convinced her to step on him without the dilution effect of a chair to help out. They’d been using one of the now-rampant foam rugs back then, however, at least doubly thick and therefore much better at absorbing the overflowing burden of downward-compressed feminine colossus arches than this brutally thin strip of yoga mat, which was squashed so paper-narrow now that it may as well not have been here at all.

Yet even more pointedly different about this time, when the shrinker couldn’t help but compare his borderline-loathsome recent experiences beneath Lillian compared to weeks before, was just how much heavier and all-consuming her weight felt upon him. It shouldn’t have been so removed from back then. He’d had the entire svelte-figured monument of his multitudes-larger spouse stacked atop him innumerable times by now, at both six feet and six inches tall; he knew what it should feel like. Or so Tony thought. Only lately did it occur to him just how consciously Lillian had always worked, up until now, to divert as much heft as possible away from those wrinkle-ripply deep-crescent curves of her pampered sun-glazed soles while they were bearing directly down atop her husband. She must’ve been unnaturally contorting the delicate interwoven muscles of her feet before, clenching in that bridged posture to ensure she packed as much strain into her heels and toes as she could instead, thus sparing Tony from the true onerousness of flatly holding up her ginormous figure as a half-foot-high submissive.

None of that restraint existed now. In fact, he could swear she was intentionally trying to let her heels and toes hover off the ground, while every bit of her weighty grandeur was compacted exclusively down through those meaty twinned soles and straight into Tony. Some of the minor micro-musculature flexes were still palpable beneath the malleable isles of condensed arch flesh, indicating her resolve to keep balanced exactly where she was, but such passive pulsating impressions were harder for the shrinker to notice now. Maybe it was because the act of being stationarily treaded upon so unyieldingly as this made him less perceptive to the up-close living ecosystem of Lillian’s quaggy cream-tempered mega-soles, but it sure as hell felt like the giantess didn’t have to steady herself at all now above him. She wasn’t wobbling or listing in another direction, nor was there any need for self-correction in her determined poise. She was exactly centered, and as the video requested, letting all the tension drain away. Once Lillian stepped onto Tony for this mountain pose, she didn’t budge except, by the faint sound of it, to raise her arms overhead and let out a happily soothed exhale when the instructor did.

“Excellent job!” the onscreen woman enthused. “Let’s go for nine more repetitions. Not so bad, right? Raise those arms, breathe deep, stand tall, and then all those worries and cares you’ve been holding inside? All those bad feelings that weigh you down from achieving your best self? Let eeeeeverything flow out through your feet. Until you could just float away.”

In the depths of his current suffering below the unrestricted enormity of his all-too-agreeable wife’s feet, Tony found himself wishing to send an overly-candid letter to this bitch on the TV, whoever she was. In that message, he’d not-so-politely inform her that all this hippy-dippy bullshit commentary to foster the sensation of lightness in her disciples was having the exact opposite effect she’d wanted, and creating a feeling of such horrifically cumbersome density that it felt like the force of gravity was working three times harder today than it did yesterday. As if Lillian was magnetized so tautly toward the center of the Earth through her soles that the splayed shrinker powerlessly slathered beneath her was, at least mentally if not physically too, on the verge of bursting from all the pressure she was currently letting out of her own body and vampirically bestowing into her diminutive spouse instead.

Tony had never wanted so badly to scream, to thrash, to hurl these accursed feet away from his body, and most of all to call Lillian out for her petty sadistic game here. Because there was no way on the face of God’s green Earth that his wife was actually telling the truth when she responded to his earlier bait in bed by going all-in. She didn’t want this any more than Tony did. They were just playing chicken at this point, waiting for the other person to flinch and give in, but there came a certain point where she was just senselessly trying to teach him a lesson that he’d sooner die than bend over and take under such emasculating circumstances. Once again, he’d given Lillian too much credit, expecting her to surrender after he stood on her boobs and made up that garble about her trampling intensity never being enough, no matter how far they took it. At last, Tony was going to tell her in no uncertain terms that her little power fantasy episode was coming to an end: she would apologize for having gone so far to change him, he’d apologize for not correcting her sooner, and they’d at last establish the perfect groove of crushing, overwhelming, and heavenly-calibrated underfoot smooshing.

Though first he had to ride out the rest of this goddamned yoga video. And there were still eight rounds of mountain pose left to endure.