Work From Home (Chapter 8) (Patreon)

Shielded yet exposed now, the metaphoric-gun smoking since Carl was still forcibly embracing his daughter’s naked sole with his cock feverishly embedded in a flesh rimple, the little man just had the minor hope left that his daughter might break the news slowly and sympathetically to Tamatha. She deserved to be spared the shock, and he deserved to have the truth told, even if he had a lot of explaining to do later. After all, there were numerous extenuating circumstances at play that deserved to be heard, such as the reason why his shrunken powerless self was currently nuzzled up in such a compromising sexual position to his own offspring’s ped. Sure, this looked bad, and he couldn’t blame his wife for taking issue with the fact that he’d had partially-unwilling sex with Blair’s foot for the last two hours while she threatened his life with that same sole, but he was also somewhat of a victim.

Carl hadn’t chosen to be shrunken by Larissa, even if he didn’t necessarily despise the idea once it happened; Carl didn’t request he be stored in a stocking and trodden upon by the heavenly redhead, though this too wasn’t utter torture; and finally, Carl had no choice in the matter when his younger daughter elected to make him an example underfoot, putting his every filthy dark-hearted secret on display and flushing out all his desire in one powerful act, though again he certainly couldn’t say he minded that either. Surely, the self-centered man-boy thought to himself with an approximation of empathy, his wife deserved to know the full story, instead of just getting a one-sided account of only the worst, most incriminating elements of this situation.

“What’s that?” Tamatha breathed, at last spying the miniscule bug-person strapped gurney-style to the dead-center of Blair’s ample, creamy sole beneath the downy stocking material. She reached out, her pointer finger extended, and aimed right for her anonymous husband.

“Oh, nothing much,” Blair said. “That’s just dad, who Larissa shrunk down out of his clothes so he could finally get a job working from home instead of just playing games and perving on girls’ feet all day, and now I have him tied down in this special stocking she gave me, to walk on him and teach him a lesson, and sure enough, little naked Dad’s been cumming again and again all afternoon since I put him there right on my sole, which I think he’s been hoping to do for a very long time, ever since he started staring at my feet when he thought I wasn’t looking. That’s what.”

Blair expressed all of this in a single breath, casual and cool as anything, seeming in fact more at peace than before upon divulging this bombshell with three simple sentences to her mother. The last shred of hope inside Carl slipped to nothingness.

Tamatha, shell-shocked to a specterlike white, gripped the arms of the chair until her knuckles popped. Her lips hung open and her eyes practically bugged from her head. She trembled, going weak in the knees, just as her daughter predicted. However, like her child before her had shown, the woman displayed remarkable resilience to this mind-blowing surreality, adapting in record time to the bizarre existence of human shrinkage to instead focus on the final heinous lines of Blair’s testimony, and composed herself even faster than the eighteen-year-old had. Carl could see now exactly where their second child had inherited this impressive trait from, and just as quickly as she’d gone to silent pieces, Tamatha leaned forward in the chair, strong and sure, her blue eyes spotlighting her husband and her lips pursed to a rigid point. The fantastical revelation of her husband’s shrinking, insane as it was, had become immaterial and almost meaningless next to the undeniable fact that he was humping and getting off to their daughter’s clay-like sole. Tamatha’s gargantuan closed-toe mule shoes, housing her sleek nude stockings and authoritative feet two sizes larger than Blair’s, tap-tap-tapped a death knell out on the floor.

“I see,” the woman uttered. Whatever emotion she felt for this development was kept tamed below the surface. The family matriarch rested her chin on a gently closed fist, fingering two tufts of shimmering platinum-blonde hair, but never tore her eyes away from her sealed-in hubby, no matter how hard he wished to vanish again. Next crossing one supple translucent-nyloned leg across the other, Tamatha suddenly appeared as a bored queen resting on her throne and preparing to offer judgment on a pitiful peasant anticipating his beheading sentence. Just barely able to spot her by turning his head halfway around, Carl found it impossible not to get another hard-on at the imposing sight of his wife, even though humiliation and dread had oh-so-briefly caused his energy-sapped dick to wilt after so much abuse.

“So… you’re not upset with me?” Blair queried at length, uncertain. She’d kept completely still while showing off her capture, never listing to either side while standing on one foot and twisting the opposite across to expose the underbelly. “I know Larissa and I did this without telling you first, but I’m just so tired of seeing dad take advantage of you, and us, that I… I had to do something, and I did. Can you forgive me, Mom?”

“Oh, sweetie, how could you even ask something like that?” Tamatha gushed. She leapt from her chair and rushed to her daughter, throwing her into a loving hug that rocked both women about. Instinctively to keep her balance, Blair dropped her suspended foot and sent it crashing back to the floor. Her father weathered the brunt of the steadying slam, finding himself again streaked via greasy friction and slippery nylon strands across the ground while Blair dug in both heels. “Darling, I’d have to be crazy to be upset with you. What kind of mother would I be to fault you for looking out for me? Really, I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become. You’re just like your sister, willing to take charge and do what’s right for yourself and those you care most about. And… now… to think of what you’re saying to me, that my own husband… your father… feels an attraction for you, too, that his sick fetish extends outside marriage and right to his own child, I… God, it makes me ill. No, Blair, I’m not upset. Not at you. I love you more than anything. But I do see now that it’s time to clear the air in this house, and set a few things straight that I’ve let go on for far too long.”

Below, Carl heard all of this once again through the sliver of space between floor and foot, but his wife’s voice was emboldened enough that the distance and obstacles hardly mattered. He heard her loud and clear. With his cock still tucked up in Blair’s deepest arch furrow, like a heart monitor, he could feel her pulse quickening, thumping hard and squeezing his reborn erection between the dual folds of scrunched skin.

“Oh, Mom, I’m so glad you said that!” Blair sighed, relaxing the tension and laughing from relief. She leaned back into her mother’s embrace, arching her foot off the ground again for support and bending her shrunken parent across a bisected fault-line of flesh. “I’ve been wondering for the last couple hours what you’d say, if you’d even agree with what I’m doing to Dad to prove what he really is. I thought you might be… mad at me. But… I want to share this with you. Please? I think together, we could really turn things around in this house, plus… you know… it’s not as gross as you might think it is, having something like him down there, getting worked over.”

“How so?” Tamatha asked. “Because I can’t imagine.”

“It’s hard to explain exactly. It’s something you just have to feel. Do… you want to try him for yourself?” Blair mischievously whispered. “I mean, I guess I shouldn’t even have to ask that, since you’re the one he’s married to, which means you kind of own him already, ‘til death do you part and all that.”

“Yes, dear, I’d love to try out your father. I need to straighten out a thing or two with him. Can you pluck him out of there?”

“Of course, Mom.”

Carl could hardly believe how fast the subject was charging forth between his wife and daughter, how instantaneously they’d overcome the mental hurdle of his extreme reduction in size to unite as a synchronized partnership, and how comfortable Tamatha had become in this madhouse family trio. He imagined this would take a while, his daughter unpacking the zany new reality for Tamatha while the woman swooned and fanned herself in an effort to get over the debilitating trauma of learning her husband was a shrunken, predatory, incestuous creep newly enslaved for the family’s private use. Instead, Tamatha and Blair had overcome the adversity in the name of moving forward in the best way possible for both them, as though they were born to it. Every passing instant, and every sweet-humored comment spoken in reference to his miniaturized punishment between his wife and daughter, further fueled Carl’s alarm and made him feel even smaller than he already was.

By the time Blair finished uncoiling her glimmering charcoal-hued stocking from around her leg and foot inside-out, unhooked the bindings, and turned the silken tunnel upside-down above her mother’s waiting hand to dump Carl toward his fate, the little man was, in spirit, the size of a crumb.

Try as he might to cling to the damp fibers, now fondly preferring the relative safety and solitary confinement of being stampeded by his daughter instead of this public household trial, Carl hurtled through the scratchy darkness. Some moments, he was sliding down the chute, and some he was simply plummeting in empty space, while Blair worked to pull the garment tight and long, with nothing to protect her father from Tamatha’s cupped hand that patiently hovered at the mouth of the stocking.

Understanding that his fate was sealed, the pathetic creature stopped trying to hang onto his daughter’s nylon, as it only delayed the inevitable, and let himself descend into his wife’s plush, grid-lined palm. The moment he plopped into the pillowy center, Tamatha’s fingers, longer and thicker than their comparatively willowy daughter’s appendages, curled in a peach tidal wave toward him, her manicured fingernails glossy and trim, and painted an ominous black, much like Carl knew her toes to be far below. As the shape of the woman’s digits bowed over, it gradually covered up his view of her eyes, until all Carl could see were her full, grinning lips, and then nothing but skin and shadow. Her fingertips collided with the shore formed by the rounded heel of her hand, and Tamatha took immense, visible satisfaction in enclosing her husband inside her fist. He, nor Blair, had seen the woman smile like this in years.

“Darling, I don’t suppose you’d mind giving me and your father a little time to ourselves now?” Tamatha politely suggested. Her voice was muffled through her clenched fingers for Carl, but he still got every piercing word. “Not to exclude you, seeing how you’ve already done such a good job getting him primed, but-”

“Sure, Mom! Go right ahead. I’ll take him off your hands later again if you want a break, though. I’m kind of just getting the hang of him.”

“Oh, I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for that. In fact, I imagine it will take the both of us, round the clock, to oversee him,” Tamatha said. In her fist, Carl’s soul sunk to fresh depths. “You mentioned that you and Larissa decided on this as a new work-from-home job opportunity for him? Well, I’ve got some work of my own still to do this evening in the office, and it seems there’d be no better way of starting my ambitious husband off in his new position than instructing him in the various duties he’ll now have as a full-time, on-call worker in this home.”

“Perfect! I need to get cleaned up still. Those heels seriously kill. But, we’ve got Dad now to help take care of that from now on, don’t we?”

“Now you’re thinking, honey.”

“Sure am. Bye, Dad! Have fun with Mom!”