SLAM.

Ken screamed through his gag as the heat-spa’s lid locked with a click, seconds after his mom closed it. She’d always found the cruellest, most ironic ways to punish him.

“Get comfortable, Kenny,” she said through the internal sound system. “You’re going to be there for a few hours, at the very least. Maybe next time you’ll think twice about taking my car without permission.”

He struggled against the heat-spa’s drain, tied spread-eagle to it with strands of yarn.

The twin holes above him were now the only connection he had to the outside. However, he was thinking less about escaping through them, and more about what was about to come through them. Faint echoes of movement travelled through the holes, telling him that the beginning of his torture was imminent.

“Here they come!” his mom teased.

Again, Ken screamed.

The twin holes darkened. His heart thundered and time slowed to a crawl. He watched in horror as his mom’s tanned feet entered through the holes, red-painted toes wiggling gleefully. They both waved around above him, allowing him to sample their faint aroma. They were huge compared to his shrunken self, each over three times the size of him.

“I made sure they were nice and clean. I know how much you HATE it when my feet stink, Kenny. Especially when they get all hot and sweaty; they become simply unbearable.”

His mom’s feet trembled as she laughed.

Seals clamped around her lower calves, closing off the holes completely, making them airtight. Heat-spas did this to protect users from the inevitable smell, not taking into consideration the unlikely event that a person might be shrunken and trapped within, turning the relaxation device into an improvised torture chamber.

“It’s not just about the car, I hope you realise. It’s about the drugs too. Did you really thing I wouldn’t notice? I’ve done that stuff plenty of times myself, when I was younger. Except I was never stupid enough to hotbox my mom’s car. The smell is going to be such a pain to get out of those seats.”

“I’m sorry,” Ken tried to say through the gag. Even if the strip of tape hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t have heard.

“Let’s switch this thing on, shall we?”

Heaters built into the walls started to hum quietly. In seconds, the increase in temperature was noticeable. Ken watched his mom curl her toes.

“Ooooo, I can already feel it. It’s getting toasty in there!”

A minute was all it took for the first bead of sweat to form, rolling out from the deepest of her many wrinkles. It hung for a moment before falling, hitting the angled ground near Ken. More droplets fell from the feet as they started blushing, pale bottoms turning pink. Whenever the sweat dripped onto him he flinched, wishing to be anywhere other than here. No matter where it landed, it all flowed into the drain he was bound to, wisked away to the waste-tank.

The restless soles, constantly scrunching and stretching, spreading their rapidly growing aroma, had turned a warm, glistening pink all over. Ken felt himself sweating, but it was nothing compared to those giant feet.

“A little more heat would be perfect, hold on.”

The walls hummed louder and started to glow orange.

“Ahhh. Much better. How’s it in there for you? Stinky enough yet?”

As she laughed her feet scrunched extra tight, squeezing sweat out from between deep creases of reddening skin. One hit him between the eyes and he screwed them shut thanks to the salty sting.

A minute later, when he finally managed to blink the vile liquid away, his mom’s feet were red and starting to swell.

“Alright, now that this thing’s at a comfortable temperature, I’m going to read for a few hours. I’ll let you out when I’m done, of course—unless I fall asleep. This is so relaxing, it’s going to be hard not to! If I do happen to fall asleep, I’ll have to let you out when I wake up, Kenny.”

Ken screamed and cried some more, begging his bindings to break. But, even if they do, where would I go? he thought. I’m locked in here, trapped with my mom’s massive sweaty feet.

“Then when you do eventually get out of there, it won’t be over. No, I think you need more punishment. To prove you’ve learned your lesson, I’m going to hook the heat-spa’s waste tank up to your mouth. That’s right, I expect you to drink every drop! If not, we’ll be repeating this tomorrow night. In fact, I’m ready to do this every night until I know for sure this naughty behaviour won’t repeat itself. Am I clear?”

He didn’t bother answering. It was pointless.

“I read something interesting on my phone earlier. Gimme a sec. Here, see how cheesy it is between my toes whilst you wait.”

A foot bowed, toe-pads stopping less than an inch away from the tip of his nose. He panicked as beads of sweat slowly formed, threatening to drip directly onto his face. If only that were the case. Instead her toes spread, releasing the hot pockets of pungent air trapped between them. She blindly guided his head between the closest two as he shook it wildly, not wanting to believe that this was real. It had to be a nightmare.

“So? Does it smell like cheese?”

She laughed, wiggled the toes on either side of head, and kept him there for another minute before her foot retreated.

“Ah! Found it! Apparently, on average, human feet make half a pint of sweat every day. Mine make a little bit more, I think, thanks to my overactive glands. Anyway, the instructions say that a couple hours of using the heat-spa will equal a daily amount of sweat. There’s going to be over a pint of my foot sweat in that waste-tank, Kenny, and you’re going to drink all of it. Or don’t. That’s fine by me. Putting you in the heat-spa with my stinky, sweaty feet is hilarious!

“I think I’ll start reading now that you know what you’re in for. Enjoy.”

Ken had nothing to do other than stare at his mom’s heat-swollen feet whilst she read. They had been roasted an angry shade of red. Whilst sweat rained around him and her restless feet danced above, he could hear the turning of pages. There were the odd giggles, too, accompanied by teasing wiggles of her toes.

Time started to lose meaning when every moment was filled with such overwhelming sensory torture. Minutes were stretched to their limits in the heat-spa.

After what felt like several hours, Ken heard the most terrifying noise so far.

Snoring.