Work From Home (Chapter 4) (Patreon)

How could he ever live this down, Carl thought? How could any one of them move forward now as people and as a family, after he’d been reduced physically, emotionally, and psychologically right in front of his daughter? The possibilities made him sick, or at least Carl thought; it was tough to pinpoint exactly what was turning him ill, since he was also being rolled bumper-car-style around Blair’s hand, and what’s more, feeling warmly gratified at the sensation of her plush flesh caressing his every nook and cranny, whether she meant to or not. Unable to help himself, he could only glance over the horizon of her fingertips and imagine what her soles might feel like, if her hand was this soft.

Then the reddening self-loathing took hold all over again in a vicious cycle.

“Maybe this is a dumb question, but do you just jack him like that under your foot because it’s funny?” Blair asked of her friend, though she couldn’t take her eyes away from her puny dad. “I mean, it is funny, but doesn’t it get old after a while?”

“Totally, it does. Like, I’ve got better things to do than just watch little guys have fun on my feet day after day. As if it’s just all about them. How backwards would that be, seriously, if I was just doing it to make them happy? No, I do it because it saves a ton on lotion, and actually gets my skin looking smoother and softer even than the expensive stuff. You don’t think I keep them this pampered and perfect only from my natural gifts, do you?” Larissa explained. For visual aid, she hoisted her bare foot again, splaying the loping geometry in all its velvety, milky glory for Larissa to admire and observe for demonstration of this theory’s success. She wiggled her toes and circled her heel, alternately straightening and furrowing her sole from its spotless state to a wrinkle-hewn wall of russet skin. “Natural gifts are obviously still a big part of it, but so is having a convenient little lotion-dispenser right down there and ready to help out. I know it sounds weird, but trust me, something happens to them when they become like this, so tiny and weak and dumb and horny. They might not have a lot of uses, but this is one of them. Maybe it has something to do with how much they love a nice pretty foot, that they just adapt. Evolution or something, to serve the better beings. I don’t know, and I don’t care. Call it just another way your dad can finally be of use in this cushy little work-from-home situation he’s in from now on.”

Carl was just about ready to throw up now. His veins chilled as though someone had poured nitrogen into his bloodstream. Even though his daughter hadn’t responded yet to Larissa’s proposal, he was utterly hollowed in mind and soul at the fact that she hadn’t screeched in revulsion at the concept of making her father into a shrunken foot-screwing barnacle trapped inside her stockings as his new job. Humiliation hung on him like a stink, only slightly overpowered by the more literal stench of Larissa’s stale post-lecture feet she’d been cooking him in for a while now. He looked pleadingly at his daughter, unsure whether she could read the sorrow and regret in his face, and wondered if begging her forgiveness would get him anywhere. At the same time, over her fenced-in fingers, the size of temple pillars, he could again spot her stocking-clad gams in the middle distance, and the shape of her exquisite feet encased by luminescent black nylon. He’d stolen a glance at those feet more times than he could count, yet now, they held such horrifying and equally thrilling promise, that Carl’s morbid curiosity was actually combating the sheer disgrace of being caught red-handed in his fetish by his own offspring.

“Huh,” Blair dreamily muttered, cocking her head at her tiny father in her hand and pondering the kinds of opportunities Larissa was talking about. Blair’s ginger goddess of a best friend did certainly have the prettiest, most impeccable feet that she could imagine, and Blair was neither a lesbian nor a foot fetishist. She just knew true beauty when she saw it. Indeed, if her father’s twisted semi-incestuous animal lust could be turned into something actually good and productive for those in his life he’d profited off for so long, was it so crazy to want to take advantage? Blair eyed her own weary stockinged feet.

“That reminds me,” Blair whispered, the thought suddenly striking. While she pointedly reached for the lip of her own sheer black stocking, fingers outstretched for this rite of passage, the girl looked her friend dead in the eye. “You said he’s in this job from now on. Does that mean…”

Larissa shook her head, tittering softly to herself. “…does it mean he’s like this forever? You’re thinking about it wrong, girl. Yeah, whatever, there’s probably a way to make him big again somehow, but after you try being your dad’s boss for a change, Blair, I don’t think you’re going to wonder much about anymore. It won’t even matter. So go ahead, and show him just how hard you’ve been working lately. I think it’s time he got a real taste.”

This was it. If there was ever a moment Blair might come to her senses, Carl knew, it was this precise moment. Sure, she could observe him being humped by her friend’s foot, and maybe even the shock had tricked her into thinking she was entertained, but at the suggestion of actually participating, he was certain his little girl would come through. She had to.

But Blair didn’t look at him, nor even speak a comforting word to affirm that this insane sexual nightmare was coming to a swift end. Instead, like her friend, she leaned forth and pinched her own stocking between her fingers. The left one. Then she too peeled it down her gorgeous leg an inch at a time, until she reached the foot, which she slowly worked through the sleek black nylon, bunching it up and over, until her delicious pink-flushed heel emerged.

Even now, Carl remained in deep psychotic denial. He crept up to the edge of his daughter’s giant fingers, peering toward the distant twin monuments of her feet, each outfitted in that alluring skin-hugging dark mesh. Like black water gushing over pale smooth sediment, he watched the rising stocking sliding over the majestic form of his child’s sole. When at last the full shape of her foot was liberated, Blair discarded her stocking on the floor with a flourish. Then, and only then, did her imperious gaze return to her father, and simultaneously, she told the little lazy ass everything he needed to know with a single passionate, vengeful, power-hungry glance.

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” he squeaked. “Please, darling. You can’t do this to me. To your daddy. Don’t you remember all the good times? D-Doesn’t that mean anything to you, sweetie? Honey?”

“He sure likes calling you those kinds of names, huh?” Larissa commented to her friend with supreme disinterest.

“Yeah, usually just when he’s trying to convince me or my mom to do something for him, so he doesn’t have to,” Blair said with a shrug. “This time’s a little different, since for once I’m doing something with him for myself, and not his selfishness. Imagine that.”

“Thank God,” Larissa said. “You’ve seen the light.”

“Please, baby. Please, please,” Carl begged, dropping to his knees and clapping his hands together in prayer. He watched, momentarily stunned speechless, as his daughter drew her bare leg in to her torso, stylishly bending at the knee and caressing her nude sole up the length of her lower thigh. “Help daddy. Let daddy go. Please!”

“Do you think he realizes it’s not helping anything to talk to you like you’re a baby?” Larissa said.

“Nah, but he still does it all the time. It’s really creepy.” Almost without thinking, Blair began to bounce her hand up and down, causing her father in turn to rebound in the same motion like a paddleball, always returning to her hand.

“Well, I guess it suits him, then.”

“Yeah, kinda. He just gets creepier every year.”

“But you won’t have to listen to it for much longer. Believe me, that’s one of the best perks of accessorizing like this. You get all the benefits, and for once, he’ll have to shut his fat annoying trap.”

The longer their conversation carried on, the less they seemed to acknowledge his existence. No matter what he said, his daughter was unmoved. It made Carl feel a special kind of hollowness he couldn’t imagine fulfilling with all the apologies in the world. He’d never felt so truly small. He opened his mouth to dispense one last artificial term of endearment, but was too heartbroken to attempt it just yet.

In less than the time it took him to meekly recuperate his wounded pride enough to try again, however, Carl realized it was already too late. His daughter’s hand was cresting forward, her steely gaze focused magnetically to the target. Her sole, now enlarged to such immense scale and intricate detail, an object he’d lusted over in his most private and embarrassing moments for years, was coming straight for him. Every beautiful curl and rise of flesh in the lipped texture of her sole bloomed into focus; even from this distance, the heat and especially the funky aroma radiated toward him, engulfing him even faster than surrender. Biologically, the man felt a sense of great anticipation and greed, yet in all other respects, he experienced only crushing dread. And he wasn’t even feeling the pressure of her foot on him yet.

“Here you go, daddy-o,” Blair said, mocking her father’s sugary tone, and pressed the side of her palm up against her arch, hard, until the flesh began to compress from the strength of her fingers. “What do you think of this?”

Carl stood up close and personal to the living tapestry of Blair’s weary, delicate, ruddy sole like it was a mural in an art installation. Certainly to him it was just as big as one. Unable to look away, he watched his daughter’s skin turn a pale anemic yellow due to the force of her hand squeezing at the epicenter of the wide, meaty sole. When she lessened her fortitude, however, retracting just enough to let her cushy flesh resume its usual feminine shape, in a lovely kaleidoscopic moment, the canvas of her foot’s underside again flushed healthy pinkish-tangerine, rosier especially at the place she’d pressed down to test, then gradually evened out again. As she lazily curled and flexed her toes out, the corresponding geometry transformed her entire sole, from shapely polished smoothness to plump divet-riddled goodness. Every little wrinkle, oily grid-mark, and pore told its own story; every square millimeter, shiny and beefy and alive, called Carl toward it. His jaw hung open as he looked on with religious reverence.