Having felt how limp your hot and sweaty body had become in her fist, Carly now has you palmed up in both hands, so her fingers don’t make you even warmer once they squeeze you for long enough.  She brings you close to her mouth, pursing her lips into a smaller opening and quickly blowing out, sending cool air onto you.  Despite the occasional spittle particle that sprays out as well, the feeling is actually quite welcome considering how tired you are.  You normally enjoy working out and pushing yourself to the limit, but never in your life have you had to work as hard as you’ve worked in the last over half a day, and this was just from attempting to survive the endless onslaught of ways your sister has devised to mentally and physically torture you.

                You stretch outward weakly, allowing the cold air from your sister’s mouth to cover more space.  You yawn widely, still fatigued.  As you do, by chance a small particle of saliva sprayed out on accident as Carly blows comes out and goes directly into your throat like an icy bullet.  It stings for a second until you realize what happened.  Then you swallow it, not having the energy or care at this point to try and spit it out.

                You already have massive quantities of two of your sister’s bodily fluids flowing through your digestive tract at this moment.  What’s a little more?

                With your body sufficiently chilled and your constant sweating starting to slow, the blowing stops and you lay in your sister’s cupped hands once again, still exhausted.  Now that you don’t have to concentrate so hard on rationing your breaths like you did when Carly was sitting on you, you now notice just how much your stomach is rumbling.  You speak up.

                “Carly… I-I’m really s-sorry… but please, can I have some… food?” you whisper, although you’re close enough to her face that she can hear.  She frowns, shaking her head.

                “Sorry, little bro, but I can’ help you.  I gave you a chance to eat breakfast with me, and you ignored it.  Probably because you were trying so hard to become MY breakfast…” she says giggling a little. You groan.  If you live through this day by some miracle, you can tell it’s going to be a long one.  You don’t know for sure, but you’d bet it’s only early afternoon now.  And it’s only Saturday, your potential rescuer parents don’t return until LATE tomorrow night.

                Can you even live that long?  It’s a legitimate question to ask yourself, and the fact that the question itself is so legitimate to begin with pains you.

                But maybe one of your friends will show up.  A neighbor.  A cop.  Who knows, it’s the world; those things exist, they could show up for whatever reason.

                Then again, none of those people could come, and Carly will hide you away when your parents return, to continue toying with you in secret.  Tell them you ran off.  Would they buy it?  Surely not.  Would they?

                Then once again, maybe you don’t even have to ponder that.  Maybe Carly will just kill you instead to avoid the risk.

                These are not thoughts you actually intended to be having when you woke up yesterday morning, before all this began.

“But… I can’t… move.  If I don’t get… food, I won’t be able to… learn…” you mumble loudly, the cool air starting to partially revitalize you, but not so much that you can move freely just yet.  Carly shakes her head.

“You’re talking, little bro.  If you can talk, that means you’re awake.  And that means you can still do what I tell you to.  Don’t try to wimp out of it,” she answers, and you have a feeling that this debate is over.  “Now, I’m betting you think you’ve learned your lesson right now.  That you think you understand women now.”

You nod furiously.  “I do!  I do!”

No look of recognition.  “Stop it, Jack.  You can’t possibly respect us after just that.  We’re a complicated species,” she says, trying to sound dignified, tossing her hair over a shoulder.  “You couldn’t possibly fully APPRECIATE us yet…”

You shiver from the cold and returning fear.

“Wh-what do I have to…do?” you question nervously.

“WELL…” she begins dramatically, bringing you up to eye level so she can see you closer.  “Part of respecting women means to know when we’re in charge.  Guys think they can tell women what to do just because that’s how it’s been, but that’s not true.  Sometimes the woman can do that, too.”

You know that perhaps better than any man in history at this point.

“So…” she continues.  “…you’re going to show me your respect for women.  Just indulge me a little, Jack,” she says cheerfully.  You groan.

“How?” you ask, as if you want to know the answer.

“I’m betting you felt how much work I’ve been doing on these feet…” she says, looking down at them for a second before looking back up.  “I mean, between basketball and doing your JOB for you outside, they’ve kind of taken a beating.  You felt how dry they are, didn’t you?”

You nod slowly.

“Well, one thing you have to learn really quickly about women, Jack: they like to be pampered.  Now, I was going to go a parlor or something.  Get my feet done, have some lotion rubbed on there, you know.  Maybe grab some of those little pads so I can do it at home.  But you know…” she says, setting you gently back on the bed so she looks to be even higher up again.  “…I don’t have any of those sitting around.  So I was thinking I’d use you, instead…” she says, biting her lip thoughtfully, tapping at the edge of her mouth with her pointer finger.

“Carly… Look… I really CANNOT move…” you yell out, coughing, so she can hear you.  She studies you for a second, then nods.

“I think you’ll find you can when you really try to, little bro.  That’s what our coach says.  But just in case you can’t, I guess I don’t need you to move to do the job…” she says, sauntering out of the room, pounding the ground and shaking you in that irritating way she walks, stomping everywhere she goes.  No wonder her feet are like that, you think to yourself.  She returns half a minute later, a large, hot pink bottle clutched in one hand.  She sits down on the bed with a loud smack, this time her butt up near your pillow, sending you tripping over as the bouncy ground caves in to one side.  You push off the ground, slowly becoming stronger, and manage to stand uncomfortably; you look up to see Carly unscrewing the bottle.  You read the label.  You realize it to be some girly, flowery foot lotion.  She pops the cap off, laying it on the bed spread, then plants the bottle upright.

“You say you can’t move, huh, little bro?  You look like you’re standing up to me.  But just because I’m a nice person unlike you, I’ll help you out on the first part…” she says, her hand casting a shadow over you as she gets two fingers under your armpits to pick you up.  You glide through the air, wondering what’s going on, and suddenly you’re sitting over the plastic mouth of the almost full lotion bottle, the light pink goop just below you.  You start to squirm, realizing what’s going on.

“Carly!  Carly, listen to me, I can just do it if you get a little of it out for me…”

“No you can’t.  Have you SEEN how big my feet are compared to you?  You wouldn’t be able to do one toe, and right now, you’re going to be doing both feet.  So you’re going to need some extra.  Hold your breath!” she says sweetly, and suddenly her fingers are dashing you downward.  With a gooey plunk, you go into the stuff, gulping a massive swallow of air before you do.  The stuff is really thick, feeling like melted marshmallows, oozing over you from every direction.  You can smell the deep, womanly lavender scent, and you want to cough, but you will yourself not to for fear of getting a mouthful of it.  You feel your sister’s fingers moving you around in a stirring motion around the bottle’s mouth, your body being used like a spoon to twirl up the thick substance into a thinner, more useable form.  After around twenty seconds or so, you feel yourself rising, the pink goop almost staying attached to you as you rise upward, breaking the surface with an odd “blop” sound, sending driblets of the cool, pink liquid dripping off of you.  You look down at yourself.  You are absolutely covered from head to foot in it, your entire body in a thick, gooey film.  You bat the stuff from your stinging eyes to see Carly, and you instantly see her smile cracking into a laugh.  She giggles almost uncontrollably, not making any sound after a second for laughing so hard.

“Wait a second, bro…” she says, her other hand going into her pocket, from which she pulls her phone.  “I just want to make sure I remember this, the way you look right now…” she says, clicking through it and holding the phone up at your level.  She clicks, and a blinding flash sends your unprepared eyes into a blinking stupor, as Carly continues to laugh, clicking through a few buttons on her humongous cell phone while still gripping your oozing body over the bottle mouth.  She finally places it back in her pocket.  You don’t even have the energy to be mortifyingly embarrassed by what she just did.  You pray a little that no other eyes ever see that phone.

“NOW… let’s see you get to work a little, okay?” she says, returning her full attention to you and resting her other arm on her bare leg.  “I figure you’ll just start with my toes, and I’ll see if you can do the job right…”

You mentally shrug, unable to really do anything besides flail a little and send a few more pink dribbles down to the ground, your entire body still caked thickly in the lavender foot lotion.  Carly’s hand tilts downward, lowering you toward her feet.  She pulls her legs to her chest, retracting her feet in to be right in front of her.  Lowering you, she releases you onto the smooth top of her foot, right next to her ankle.  Your slick body easily slips down the slight incline of her foot, feeling the slight bumps of foot veins under your naked ass as you slide quickly down to her toes.  You land with an uncomfortable plop onto the bedspread, your mouth opening for a gasp of air and instantly getting a taste of the lotion.  It doesn’t taste nearly as good as it smells (which, at your size, is pretty sharp to begin with), and stings your throat, causing a slight burning sensation.  You spit a few times onto the bedspread, trying to get it out, but it doesn’t seem to be going away.  You look down at yourself, the pink dribbles concealing every inch of your skin, so thick is the layer of it.

Before you lie the feet of Carly, her toes rippling up and down as she waits patiently.  You take a groggy step forward, almost tripping in tiredness, and stop within touching distance of your sister’s left big toe, which, when flat on the ground like this, comes up above your knees. 

“C’mon, Jack, give your big sister a nice, relaxing pedicure.”

You take a step forward, and reach your hands out, placing them onto the top of your sister’s big toe.  This happens to be her nailbed, and it’s so white and stretched looked around the edge, that it feels like you’re pressing your hands into a rock and dirt formation, minus the residue left on your hands.  You begin to rub thoroughly into the chalky white skin patches around her nail and even up against a small piece of peeling skin that stands up about as tall as one of your hands.  You press your fingers into it, kneading.  Then, as you feel your hands becoming clean, you realize how much work there is to do, as you look at your sister’s toe and only see the moistened luster of the applied lotion in a layer around her nail.  You shrug and swipe your hands back along your stomach for a fresh supply of goop, then return, this time swiping your hands from the edge of her fleshy toe and down the side.  Her toe is so massive around that you can’t actually reach all the way down, but you try, leaning yourself down on her rock-like, ivory-clad big toe, trying not to let her nail scratch you, and knead hard into the flesh on the side of her toe.  Once you think you have this toe done, you start to move over to the side, but Carly is quick to speak.

“Where do you think you’re going, little bro?  You didn’t get the bottom yet.”

You watch as she splays her toe backward as far as she can, creating a small space underneath for you to reach, if you were in a crouching position.  You look up at her face, swiping the goop off the space around your eyes so you can see more clearly, and see Carly’s head tilted down at you, incessant in her expression.  You look away from her face, get down on your belly, and crawl underneath her held up big toe, creating a slick under your back from the lotion lining it.  Slapping your hands together in preparation, you reach up and get to work.  You run your fingers along the spiraling toe print, and at this size you can actually feel the indent it creates, the microscopic bump of flesh circling around her toe in macabre patterns.  Despite your sister’s shower, you can also, unfortunately, feel the slightest trace of nearly invisible grime lining the spaces between her toe print rings.

After doing this for a moment, Carly evidently realizes you’re not actively scrubbing at her toe, because her toe is suddenly mashing down on you.  You tilt your head backward quickly in response (you’ve had to get good at this very quickly recently), your head bumping against the top of her foot as the brunt of her big toe presses down onto the cool, milky pink substance coating your stomach.  She grinds her toe print into your abs, the graying rings of dried, peeling flesh around the edge of her toe pushing down as well, the entire muscular mass of fleshy, peachy meat mashing you downward into your own pink lotion-drenched puddle.

Knowing full well what you have to do to get Carly to release you from this submission hold, you hug your arms upward around the bulbous toe flesh and start to rub around with your forearms, smearing the goop all along Carly’s arid toe flesh, the slight, dry creases moistening with your hard work.

Admittedly, the coolness of the lotion helped your sweating body out a little, but the effort of pressing into the taut skin of your sister’s big toe, feeling the muscle underneath after not much give in the desiccant grooves of her flesh, is starting to tucker you out again, undoing the effects of the brief break you had after your three hour sweat box session under Carly’s monumental ass.

You continue kneading as hard as you can into the dry skin on the toe, the lotion finally helping matters as the flush flesh becomes slick and smooth with the liquid residue, blending in tone with her healthy toe.  Despite the cool lotion, your hard rubbing into the massive of rough flesh is actually generating a little bit of heat, leaving a deep burning sensation in your forearms.  Finally, after what feels like roughly ten minutes, the toe releases the not-painful but firm pressure on your abdomen.  Now able to take full breaths, your arms drop off of your sister’s toe as she lifts it up, curling it in to give you some room.   You pant briefly, your head swimming as blood is allowed to flow a little more regularly into your brain.  Upside down from your sister, you look straight backward from your prone position on the bed to see your sister grinning ear to ear.

“Hey, that wasn’t bad, little bro.  Only nine to go!” she grins enthusiastically, her fingers descending on you quickly.  “Looks like you’re running a little low on lavender there.  Let’s fill you up again…” she says, her fingers clutching at your damp, slippery body and lifting you back toward the lotion bottle for another inevitable, gooey dunk.

Releasing your pink-lotion coated, blistered hands from the bottom of your sister’s final, now-greasy pinky toe, you collapse before the pair of massive, muscular feet.  You’ve just finished an hour and a half massaging your little sister’s calloused, dry toe grooves in the roughest, driest sections of human skin you believe you’ve ever touched in your life.  Obviously, the effect is amplified a hundred times over because of your size, but it’s still a little odd to you just how completely peeled and battered your sister’s toes are.  You close your eyes, just trying to let your heart rate regulate.  You cough up a little of the thickness in your throat from all the work you’ve done onto the bed spread next to you, your face beet red in heat.  Your sweat has mixed in with the pink lotion completely at this point, although you highly doubt your sister would care.  Ironically, you imagine she’d probably be thrilled with the idea of you putting literal sweat from your labors right onto the disgustingly dried and cracked bottoms of her toes.

                “Why are you resting, little bro?  You haven’t even gotten to the BIGGEST part yet,” adds Carly, sounding a bit confused in your apparent error of judgment.  You look to your side and see Carly standing her foot up, holding her freshly lotioned toes in the air, resting on her heel again.  Her fingers slip between her toe crevices, sliding in and out a little before retracting.  “Hmm… wow, it actually feels like you did a good job, Jack.  I’m a little surprised.  Maybe I should use you for this more often…” she says with a cruel little giggle, and you know full well that she’s only half-joking.  “Now get up and stop being lazy.  I gave you a job to do, and you’re pooping out on me halfway through.”

                You roll onto your side and try to stand up, but your absolutely beat arms don’t allow it, and you trip right onto your gooey face, into the soft bed spread.  Carly instantly begins cackling, throwing her head and hair back, her hands gripped tightly around her large ankles as she rocks back and forth a little before recomposing herself.

                “Oh my G… you really… you really can’t move, can you?” she says, and you almost see tears of laughter welling in her eyes.  “I mean, you REALLY can’t move…”

                “No…” you groan loudly and somewhat sarcastically so she can hear you.

                “Well, there’s not need to be a jerk about it, little bro, I can hear you just fine without the attitude.  Remember?  I thought you said you learned your lesson.  Say you’re sorry.”

                “Sorry…”

                “Nicer.”

                “I’m… sorry, Carly.”

                “That’s better,” she says, smiling and wiping the laugh tears from her left eye.  “Now, we just have the problem of you finishing a job that you’re apparently too weak to do.  What’s the matter, bro?  They’re just ten toes.  Ten tiny little toes.  You really can’t handle those?”

                To be fair with yourself, you probably could have, but coupled with the fact that you’ve been facing nonstop physical and mental duress this entire day, the toe massage was really just the straw that broke the camel’s back.  Or your back, at any rate.  You groan audibly, knowing there’s not a correct answer to her question.

                “I guess you have worked pretty hard, huh?” she says, sounding gentle again.  “Well, I suppose I can pick up the slack for you, just this once.  Now hold real still, and try not to squirm…” she says, her hand wrapping around your sticky, overheated body and lifting you up.  You look forward and suddenly realize that she’s gone back into a cross-legged position, and she’s stretched out her right leg so that her sideways foot (and the bottom) are in full reach.

                 You have no time to react.  You instinctively throw your hands up to defend your body, but it’s of no use as you body-slam right into Carly’s foot like a pancake.  The fingers holding you sideways and parallel with the foot around your legs and sides pin you down, plastering you into the wrinkled sole flesh.  It’s actually very doughy and cool, and unlike her dry toes, doesn’t cause you pain to be pressed into.  You oxygen flow is stunted once again, but it’s okay; she’s not grinding you, at the very least.  After holding on to you for a second, you feel her plushy fingers let go, but you remain in place.  Carly laughs loudly as you try to shift your arms, glued tightly in place to the steadily drying, sticky residue of the remaining lavender lotion coating you, the gummy ends snagged firmly into your sister’s sole wrinkles.  You are literally unable to move, stuck squarely onto your sister’s foot by the lotion, your face pressed hard into the cushy flesh, your dick almost entirely consumed by a curled sole crinkle.

                Now immobilized once again and realizing that your sister isn’t intending on snatching you up off her massive foot bottom a few seconds afterward, you are left with your thoughts again, finally able to concentrate on more than mental pain shifting and just surviving.

                The memories of what’s befallen you in the last almost-day long journey in your already unhealthy and constantly vengeful relationship with your younger sister resume taking a toll.  Despite your sister’s uncommon craftiness for one her age, you were always secure in the knowledge that you were morally justified in getting her right back for any humiliation she tried to cause you (at least in your own morals set, you were).  But now, your relationship has become pretty literally one-sided, as your sister has you wide open for a ruthless barrage of attacks, with you completely unable to defend yourself in any way other than trying to keep your mind from collapsing in on itself, and even this is becoming harder and harder. 

                For example, to your subconscious you think, you’re currently stuck, naked and humiliatingly, to the bottom of your sister’s dry foot, slightly greased with the lotion you just applied with your own gummy extremities, trapped like a bug on a windshield.  She has you so in her control, there may never be a thing you can do to undo this, even if you regained your size and beat her for what she’s done to you so cruelly.  For the rest of your time alive, your essential enslavement by your sister in the most vulnerable day of your life will haunt you, either in physical pain or horrible recurring visions.

                After several minutes of sitting there, breathing the deep lavender scent and fleshy, body wash scent of Carly’s feet in through the small crevice of space between your mouth and your sister’s wrinkled sole, you feel the cool fingers grabbing at you, and with a barely audible brittle cracking sound of the now-dried and settled lotion on your front side you come undone.

                “Sorry about that, little bro, I just couldn’t help myself.  That couldn’t have been that bad, anyway, the middle of my foot’s a lot softer than the rest of it…” she affirms somewhat correctly.  “…but now that I’ve let you have a little break on there, I’m ready for you to finish up.  Take a deep breath…” she says, dunking and swirling you in the sea of pink, fresh lotion again, you becoming quite used to this at this point, as she re-applied your lotion coating at the conclusion of every individual toe massage so you could paint a new coat of it onto the dry sides and bottoms of her toes.

                Plunking you out of the goop, you now dripping from head to foot in a newly oiled supply of the lavender swamp fluid, she brings you back to her foot without hesitation.  This time, she slams you hard into the ball of her foot, the driest section.  As she rubs you rhythmically and quickly, her fingertips slightly vibrating against your sides, the absolute island of dry, peeling flesh on her ball pierces through the protective, jelly-like layer of lotion, and instantly gets to your raw skin.  Your dick, as well, is pressed powerfully and hopelessly into the rough patch, and you actually feel your dick bumping along a little as it gets partially snagged on peeling skin flakes that are jutting out loosely from the ball, again sending the sensation of having your crotch hit with a baseball bat up into your hapless gut.  After roughly a dozen strokes or so across her thick, tanned foot ball, you feel a sharp stinging in your chest.  You instinctively moan as the sore spot is continually ground into the slight, hilly wrinkles covering your younger sister’s foot. 

Then, as you feel the center of the ball begin to get slicker with the steadily depleting layer of pink goo surrounding your body, you feel Carly’s fingers tighten as she moves you a little to the left on her still sideways foot, violently dragging your sweaty, mangled body onto the whitened, almost powdery edge surrounding the ball, the driest part of Carly’s entire foot, even more than the ball or heel itself.  To ensure this section is thoroughly lotion coated, Carly begins rubbing your helpless body in a circular motion around the circumference of her foot ball.  As your raw and scratched chest is scraped roughly across by another loose foot skin flake, you cry out in pain, gritting your teeth a little too late as a another burning mouthful of lavender foot lotion fills your mouth, most of it already stuff that had been partially absorbed into the now-steadily moistening foot of your sister.

You flatten your head to the side like a swimmer as you rocket around the seemingly endless and dizzying track of your sister’s foot ball, the ground steadily becoming glistening and slippery, more apt for your body to be dragged so hard across.  You start to notice a little line of dark red, extremely thin and probably unnoticeable to the normal-person-sized eye, running in the same circular track underneath you.  You press your cheek down as hard as you can, getting it slammed by a passing ball wrinkle like a speed bump, trying to look down.  You see sizeable scratches having formed along your chest, bleeding ever so slightly in such a crimson, raw form.  They don’t appear dangerously deep, but there are at least half a dozen lining the top of your ravaged chest, as if you had just fallen off of a bike onto the hard pavement (or in this case, a dry foot).  The stinging continues, and you close your eyes, praying for the lesson to be over soon as Carly continues to polish her dusty heel with you as her human lotion applicant, painting her foot ball in a thin, barely visible line of your blood and sweat.