Time-Out: Nancy's Way (Chapter 9) (Patreon)

This quiet demand, delivered in the siren-like lower register of the giantess’s voice, should’ve seemed even more inevitable to Scott than choiceless request for kisses to the heel. But still the reality hit him like a ton of bricks, or even worse than that, a single feminine foot the size of a building barreling toward him. Indeed both Nancy’s peds were descending swiftly over him, but not to knock into him this time, since she gave the boy just enough of a window to hastily backpedal out of range before she pressed her pithy soles flat atop the coffee table, with her one-inch attendant now bowed in front of the toes which were previously perched far too high above for him to reach. She grinned with satisfaction, staring Scott dead in the eye, which was another unpleasant reminder to the shrinker that he could no longer use the upward-propped monuments of her naked feet to shield himself from her overly fascinated attention that felt more like voyeurism than mere supervision.

“Come on now, Scott. How much harder could it be?” Nancy egged him on. “You’ve already put those lips to work. You’ve just got to open that sweet little mouth this time, stick out your tongue, and… well, it’s not like you haven’t had practice, is it? You know what to do. And you’re so close to earning your keep for the day, too. I’m taking care of you while your Mommy is out of town, after all, and I want to make it like a little vacation for you, to help take your mind off some of that pesky family drama that we all have to deal with now and then. But there’s got to be give and take here. Just take care of this one last thing for me today, dear. That’s all I’m asking. And then we’ll take care of you.”

Scott could feel himself psychologically paralyzing again as he gawped up at Nancy’s hypnotically persuasive expression all the way up the length of the toned brunette giantess’s reclined body and especially the smooth tan tops of her immense bare feet posed before him. There was a shift in the air, one that he couldn’t place his finger on, but it was tangible as anything he’d ever felt. Nancy had always spoken to him in a teasingly come-hither manner, and only more so as he advanced from adolescent to young man, which for most of his life had just seemed like her personality: she enjoyed getting reactions out of people with provocative statements and barely-hidden flaunting of her sexual aura, which had aged naturally (aside from a couple plastic surgeries) as a fine wine.

Yet there was nothing left in Nancy’s voice or behavior now that felt like mere inappropriate joking. They were absolutely alone together, she was fully in charge of his fate, and the woman wasn’t just taking advantage of his total shrunken vulnerability to have fun and give herself an ego boost before dismissing him. She was making him a proposition. A tongue bath on her toes in exchange for something yet unspoken, but Scott didn’t have to guess at what the reward would be. He also didn’t have to guess that, like the last “request” – or anything that Nancy ever asked him to do during these three days of legal enslavement – he did not have an option here. She was telling him what was going to happen, one way or another.

So again Scott prepared to comply. Bending forward in front of her left foot’s slender yet hulking toes until he didn’t have to see Nancy’s giant wide-eyed smirk in his peripherals, even though he could still “feel” her staring intently from yonder with laser-beam focus, he massaged his tired jaw and psyched himself up for this latest escalation. Even without purposefully inhaling yet, the musk was still easily noticed, as was the heat of her skin, even more so than from her heel. Scott’s throat was bone-dry and his stomach was turning, but his tongue was ready. How had it gotten to this point? How would anyone else in his life react, if they only knew what he was being made to do here? If they could see him here? Then again, did it really matter anymore, after he’d already fallen so far?

Taking another deep breath, like that would actually help, the one-inch inmate stuck out his tongue as forcibly requested, shut his eyes, and began to sweep his microscopic taste buds over the meaty front-facing curvature of Nancy’s big toe. The flavor was relatively expected, considering the lengthy preview he’d had by so thoroughly smooching her heels. It wasn’t utterly disgusting in the way of gym lockers or garbage, considering all the cleansing de-aging products she used, but the impact still nevertheless was amplified to a sharper claggier floral-honey strain of a taste Scott would’ve been very happy to live his whole life never having tasted. But here he was anyway, crawling slowly on his hands and knees in front of the regally spread display of the middle-aged giantess’s athletic creamy-smooth toes and heavily raking his tongue across them with every inch he advanced.

“Perfect,” she crooned from above. “Don’t you dare stop, now. We’re just getting started. And remember, there’s no such thing as too hard. Only too gentle.”

Maybe worst of all, though, scarier and more sickening to Scott than the idea of Nancy officially crossing this final threshold between them by making erotic bargains in trade for his itsy-bitsy dehumanized humiliation, was his own internal reaction to it all. He wasn’t repulsed to the point of nausea right now by the combined tincture of melted essential oils, salty shoe-lining fluid, and well-groomed if dirty giantess toe flesh on his taste buds, like he felt he should have been. He wasn’t infuriated on principle. He wasn’t depressed, or at least not yet. Instead, the deeply-ingrained sensory memory from earlier of these same humongous toes sweatily stroking and grinding over Scott’s desperately unfulfilled loins came roaring back to the forefront of his mind. Kissing her heels before had simply begun to softly activate these flavors and feelings in his mind, but now that he was full-on licking her foot, passionately plying his tongue to specific female anatomy in a way that he only had before with two women in his life (one of them very much against his will), something new and possibly terrifying was happening. A tingle was working its way between his legs right now from the pleasurable sting of that recollection, and it wasn’t going anywhere.

And with that deliciously arousing memory sensation in Scott’s privates also came the associated dark sticky sauna-like consumption of being stuck inside Nancy’s shoe. Or any woman’s shoe, for that matter. He wasn’t there now, of course, but might as well have been, for how possessed and subjugated he felt. The sizzling climate, the airless black, the pore-spiced tanginess of her day’s efforts, and the perception of his skin becoming glued by stinkily intoxicating sweat to pudgy underside toe flesh: all things he’d suffered a thousand times before in a thousand different shoes against his will, and learned to weather over the years. But just now, while lapping his tiny tongue over Nancy’s firm moist staunchly-fragrant digit contours down from supple toeprint pads up to pedicured red-painted nailbeds, some last mental barrier once protecting Scott from the dangerous intermingling of wrongful beliefs or desires had finally burst. Like his brain was instantaneously rewired. With each lick the boy took over Nancy’s foot, he was positively alarmed to feel his naked member beginning to twitch.

What the hell had she done to him?